


flying and falling

by conclusions (introductions)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Falling In Love, Flirting, Gryffindor Lee Jeno, Half-Veela Na Jaemin, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Quidditch, Slow Burn, So much flirting, Sports and Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 49,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductions/pseuds/conclusions
Summary: Gryffindor Chaser Jeno Lee returns for his seventh year at Hogwarts determined to beat all the other Houses. Then comes Beauxbatons student Jaemin Na, and suddenly, there aretwothings Jeno's trying to win: the Quidditch Cup and Jaemin's heart.(or: quidditch and jaemin na are both very romantic concepts.)
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 75
Kudos: 979
Collections: ’00 FIC FEST: ROUND ONE





	1. fall

**Author's Note:**

> yes hello i am a fiend and fool for making this so long. but what can i say? i love hogwarts and i love quidditch and i love waxing poetic about jaemin na. 
> 
> everyone thank [ethan](https://twitter.com/hwallrics) for beta-ing without him i would have perished many moons ago and this would be a burning dumpster fire of a fic! hey ethan i owe u the world 
> 
> also endless thanks to lucy for the prompt! exchange student half-veela jaemin? absolute genius. everyone go thank her this fic was a team effort and would not exist without her! we have the same name so i refuse to believe that me finding her prompt was anything but fate and destiny and the most wonderful sort of coincidence. 
> 
> #0054

Coming back to Hogwarts is, Jeno thinks, pure magic. Even after six years. The way the air smells when he steps off of the Express. The massive gates, thrown wide to welcome the sea of students. The balls of light that float in the air above their heads as they walk up the steps, cutting through the red-yellow dusk. And of course, the first look at the Great Hall, with its long, gleaming tables and magical ceiling that seems to open to the heavens. The settling, grounding feeling of being _home._

His seventh year is no different, save for the addition of a weird, flitting sadness. This is the last first day that he’ll have here. There’s a half-second where his throat starts to close up, but then Donghyuck and a few other Gryffindors come up to him, whooping and slinging their arms around his shoulders when they see him. 

“All right, Captain?” Keeper Vivian Rehman says. “Ready to kick Ravenclaw’s ass this year?” 

“Absolutely,” Jeno replies, and there are a bunch of assenting _yeah_ s from the people around him. 

“Time to sit down,” Professor Kirk, the Transfiguration teacher says, bustling past them and shooing them towards their table. “The Sorting’s about to start.” 

Jeno finds a seat at the Gryffindor table, craning his neck towards the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, looking for Chenle and Renjun. He finds them, waves, and then settles back down onto the benches as Professor Zhao, who teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, leads the first years into the Great Hall. Most of them look extremely nervous, faces white against their dark robes. 

Donghyuck leans in. “This bunch is tiny,” he remarks. “Especially after last year’s group.” 

Jeno hums in agreement, looking over the forty or so new faces. “I wonder if any of them will play next year.” 

“At that size, no way,” Donghyuck snorts. “They’ll get knocked off their brooms by the wind.” 

Professor Zhao starts reading out names. The Abbas twins both go to Hufflepuff, and Jeno watches Chenle leap to his feet and welcome them. 

“Binns, Norah,” Professor Zhao says next, moving the Sorting Hat to her head. The Sorting Hat deliberates for a moment before announcing _RAVENCLAW!_ in its booming voice. 

“Psst, Hyuck,” says a boy sitting across from them. “When’s the last time the Sorting Hat had a song?” 

“Uh, not since Harry Potter’s time, I think,” Donghyuck replies. “Though I’m not sure. Maybe it sang the year there was that huge flood and the Slytherins had to sleep in our common room.” 

A few more names are announced. Kiera Lovelace is the first Gryffindor, and Jeno and Donghyuck clap along with the rest of their table. Time inches past; Jeno’s stomach rumbles as he thinks about the fantastic feast that waits for them as soon as the Sorting is over. The windows turn scarlet, and then inky blue as the sun sinks past the horizon. The ceiling grows silver with stars. Donghyuck turns away from snide comments about the new Slytherins and towards Quidditch, as most conversations with him do. 

“I heard Hufflepuff got a new Seeker,” Donghyuck mutters as soon as Atessa Prince joins their table and they sit back down. “She’s supposed to be _awesome._ ” 

“Come off it,” Jeno says, trying to look for a new face amongst the Slytherin Quidditch team, sitting on the far side of the hall. “If they throw our chances _again,_ I’m going to be so upset.” 

_Upset_ is a bit of an understatement, Jeno thinks. _Heartbroken_ is more like it. _Crushed_ and _furious_ work, too. This is their seventh year, after all, and Gryffindor hasn’t won the Cup since Jeno joined the team in his second year. If there’s a time to change that, it’s _now._ He and Donghyuck have one more chance, and Jeno doesn’t think he wants anything more in the world. He cares about it so much that he’s not even sure the creeping pressure of his N.E.W.T.s in the spring will change how he feels. In fact, there’s probably not a single solitary thing in the world that could be more important than winning the Quidditch Cup. 

Professor Zhao finishes the Sorting, rolling up the scroll of names. There’s one last round of applause as she makes her way back to the head table. There’s a low murmur of anticipation as the whole hall waits for the headmistress to raise her hands and invite them all to eat. 

Instead, she gets to her feet, giving them all a warm smile as she walks to the front. “Welcome, everyone,” she says, “and welcome, first years. Normally I save my announcements for after dinner, but I’m afraid this one is too important—and too exciting.” She claps her hands together. “As you know, there are several other magical schools scattered across Europe. Hogwarts is only one of many.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes are widening with each passing second. “No way,” he mutters. “No _way._ ” 

“Years ago, cultural exchange was rare and often viewed as unnecessary,” the headmistress continues, “but in this day and age, I can think of fewer _more_ important things. There is a whole world of witches and wizards out there, and I think it is vital that you meet them. Which is why Hogwarts is pleased to announce its cultural exchange program with Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.” 

Gasps and murmurs rise through the air. Someone shouts, “From France?” 

Laughter ripples across the Great Hall, and the headmistress smiles benignly. “Yes, from France. Their students will be here by the end of the week.” 

Donghyuck whips around to face Jeno. “Did you just hear what I heard? _Beauxbatons?_ ” 

“I guess so,” Jeno says, half-listening as the headmistress continues on about the number of students, accommodations, and how long they’ll be staying. “Dunno what the big deal is.” 

“The big deal is that Beauxbatons are all giggly, charm-doing types,” Vivian Rehman says, looking disgruntled. “No guts at all.” 

Jeno, personally, is a huge fan of Charms. It’s his best subject, but he doesn’t tell Vivian that because he knows she’ll laugh at him. 

“I’m excited,” Donghyuck says. “I bet they’re all _gorgeous._ ” 

“Have you seen the French?” Vivian asks, snorting.

“My mom’s French,” Seeker Sean Bellinger offers hopefully, and Vivian gives him a mildly patronizing look. 

“That’s nice, Sean,” she says, and then mouths _third years_ at Jeno and Jaemin. 

“—please make sure to welcome them when they arrive at the end of the week,” the headmistress is finishing when Jeno turns his attention back to her. “They’ll be here until the N.E.W.T.s and the O.W.L.s in June.” 

Jeno’s about to remark about the length of that time, but the headmistress finishes her speech, claps her hands, and the dishes in front of them fill with food. The first years gasp, and the hall bursts into noise as people start to eat. 

“Finally,” Jeno sighs, stomach cramping as he piles mashed potatoes and lamb chops onto his plate. Donghyuck is already eating, mouth full even as he serves himself more. 

Jeno’s only other best friends are in other houses, and the majority of his teammates exist in an awkward zone. Vivian, he’d trust with his life, but not with the inner workings of his mind; the other Chasers, Mia Wilshore and Jason Elliot, are young enough that he feels it’s more like a younger-sibling sort of deal, and Lynne Green, the other Beater, is unreadable and little scary. 

Which leaves Donghyuck, and Jeno’s been talking to him all summer through a combination of text and owl. Donghyuck’s parents are both Muggles, _and_ he lives in the city, which means too many owls get a little chaotic. Since Jeno comes from a half-Muggle household, though, both are used in equal measure, perfect and messy. 

Soon enough, dinner’s over, and Jeno and Jaemin hang around outside of the Great Hall so they could meet up with their non-Gryffindor friends before they head up to the common room. 

“What were you two whispering about?” Renjun asks when he sees them. “Hyuck looked excited about something.” 

“Probably because the Beauxbaton students are going to expand his dating pool,” Jisung comments, appearing out of nowhere and barely dodging Donghyuck’s swinging fist. 

“You—” Donghyuck starts, heated, but Chenle, clad in yellow and black, pops up and distracts them both with a question about accidental property damage. 

“Where are your _robes_?” Jeno asks Jisung, who looks down at his green t-shirt and jeans like it’s the first time he’s seeing them. 

“Oh, my charm must’ve worn off,” Jisung says. At Jeno’s expression, he rolls his eyes. “I haven’t worn my robes since I was a fourth year.” 

“You’re joking,” Jeno says, staring at Jisung in part amazement, part disbelief. “One of the professors must have caught you.” 

“I think Trillwind did, once,” Jisung muses, referencing the Charms professor, “but I think she was so impressed she let me go.” 

“Good, because I don’t want to get in trouble. We’ve got Quidditch to play,” Jeno says. It’s not meant to be malicious at all, and he thinks Jisung understands that. Out of all of their non-Quidditch friends, Jisung seems to understand the frenzied, desperate dream that possesses both Jeno and Donghyuck. 

“You’re going to win,” Jisung assures Jeno after a second, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I mean it. You’re going to kick every single ass in this school.” 

“Quidditch?” Renjun asks, and when Jeno nods, Renjun slings an arm around Jeno’s neck. “You’re going to be _brilliant,_ Jeno,” Renjun says. “I don’t want my team to lose, sure, but I also don’t want your dream to shatter. That would be awful.” 

“That…” Jeno pauses, trying to sort through his feelings. “That’s actually really nice, Renjun,” he manages at last, and tastes the strange sadness once again. 

Donghyuck, like he can sense Jeno’s oncoming breakdown, swoops forward and grabs Jeno’s sleeve. “We’d better go,” he tells their friends.

“Jisung, you too,” Jeno tacks on. “You’ve got school tomorrow _and_ O.W.L.s this year.” 

Jisung makes a dissenting noise. “Can’t Chenle and I—” 

“Chenle’s going back to his dorm right now,” Renjun jumps in, and Chenle, floundering for an excuse, can only nod wordlessly. 

Jisung looks utterly betrayed. “Fine. I’ll go to bed,” he mutters, and lets Donghyuck and Jeno nudge him towards the Slytherin common room. 

“Don’t sneak out or you’ll get your ass kicked,” Renjun reminds him, and Jisung mumbles something under his breath before disappearing down the hallway. 

Jeno and Donghyuck part ways with Chenle and Renjun shortly after, taking the fast way up to the common room. Jeno knows all of the false doors and trick steps by now; how to time the moving staircases and which portraits he should always wave to. He and Donghyuck stop to help a terrified Ravenclaw first year that’s been swallowed by a suit of armor, and make it to the common room just as the prefects are finishing their welcome speech and pointing the first years to their dormitories. 

The seventh year dormitory hasn’t changed since they were first years themselves. Their trunks, as always, are at the foot of their beds, the sheets turned back and the pillows fluffed. The small fireplace has been lit, casting the room in a warm orange glow. 

Corey Rochester, whose Welsh accent is so thick it took Jeno a whole year to understand him, is already in bed. Sai Chadha is digging violently through his truck—a yearly tradition, since he always seems to lose something before the first night is over. Michael Morgenstern isn’t here yet, but that’s most likely because he’s gotten in trouble for the hex he cast on that Slytherin girl before the feast. 

They spend a little time catching up, but once Michael comes back with a detention and they all crawl into their beds, the room quickly falls into silence. The lights flicker out one by one as soon as everyone’s ready, like an invisible hand is turning them off. Across the room, Corey starts to snore softly. 

Jeno turns on his side, looking out through the window and up at the starry sky. In the distance, he can see the Quidditch pitch. From here, the hoops look no bigger than his pinky finger. 

“We’re going to do it this year,” he whispers to himself, a promise. “Nothing is more important.” 

In his dream, he flies. 

* * *

The next morning, woken by the sun blazing through the windows, Jeno gets dressed as quickly as he can. He still needs to unpack his trunk, because it's nearly impossible to dig through it all, especially with the Undetectable Extension Charm he's got on it. He'd spent all summer trying to cast it successfully, and had done it just before he'd left for the train. It takes him fifteen minutes to find a clean pair of underwear and his sneakers, which he pulls on as he hops down the stairs to the common room. Donghyuck is already waiting for him, hair still a little wet as he chats with Sean and Vivian.

“Sleep well, Captain?” Sean greets him, and Jeno slaps his outstretched hand.

“Slept alright, thanks,” Jeno says. "Shall we go? Professor Zhao has to give us our schedules.”

Donghyuck's face contorts at the thought of class. “Yuck. This year's going to grind me into dust.”

“Ooh, yeah, good luck,” Vivian says, snickering. “After absolutely failing all my O.W.Ls, _nobody_ wants me to take the N.E.W.Ts.”

“I can't believe I got roped into studying and doing well in school," Donghyuck complains as they exit through the portrait hole and make their way down to the Great Hall. "All I wanted to do was play Quidditch." He turns to Jeno, accusatory. “You've been awfully silent.”

Jeno shrugs. “I think school's important, is all.” It's a bit of an understatement, honestly. He thinks school is _vital,_ at least to him. It might have to do with the recurring nightmare where he suddenly can't play Quidditch ever again and has nothing to fall back on. “We're not gonna play league Quidditch forever.” 

“That's true,” Sean says, nodding like Jeno's just dispensed a priceless bit of wisdom.

“But hopefully we'll be so loaded we won't have to work,” Donghyuck sighs. “Which means I can fail all my classes this year in peace.”

Jeno's friends are waiting for them at the front of the Great Hall. Jisung and Chenle are bent over a book Jisung is holding, and Renjun is picking at the end of his tie. All three, however, look up when Donghyuck shouts, “Oi!” and waves.

“See you later, Cap," Vivian says, saluting Jeno. “Team meeting tonight?”

“Count on it,” Jeno assures her. She and Sean walk into the hall together, joining some other fifth and sixth years at their table.

“Whose table is it today?” Jisung asks in lieu of a greeting. “I'm starving and you guys took forever.”

“It's a Wednesday, so Ravenclaw,” Renjun says, and the rest of them nod and follow him.

“All right, Lee?” Someone shouts at Jeno as they enter, and Jeno raises a hand without knowing who the voice belongs to. There's a chorus of _heys_ as they pass the Gryffindor table, and Jeno does his best to appear enthusiastic and excited.

“We've got the House Cup this year, right?” A girl asks. Jeno thinks she's a fourth year, but he's not sure. He gives her a thumbs-up either way.

“Hell yeah,” he replies. “No doubt.”

A cheer rises up from the Gryffindor table, and Jeno's face heats. Jisung snorts; Renjun rolls his eyes.

“So popular,” Chenle says, sounding a little awed. “It sort of makes me want to cheer for you guys, too.”

“He's an awesome captain,” Donghyuck boasts, clapping Jeno on the back so hard he chokes on his orange juice. “ _And_ a kickass Chaser.”

“Only because I've got an awesome team,” Jeno shoots back, and Donghyuck grins at him so widely Jeno can nearly _feel_ the weight of their excitement, their hope. The dream that they've carried on their shoulders for years. Potent, tangible, _alive._ Jeno wants this so much he doesn't know what he'd be if they lose.

They settle into breakfast. Jeno spoons brown sugar into his oatmeal and listens to Chenle talk about the dream he'd had. Professor Zhao, who's the head of Gryffindor, comes over a few minutes later to give them their schedules, tapping her wand on each piece of parchment before she passes it to them.

There's a moment of silence as they read over their schedules. Jeno, Donghyuck and Renjun all have two-hour breaks twice a week—Jeno assumes they're _supposed_ to be for homework, but he's already thinking of the Quidditch scrimmages he could plan during that time. Chenle makes a dissenting noise and slams his schedule down so hard he knocks his coffee over.

“I don't _want_ to take Potions,” he whines. “I wanted that time open so I could study with Professor Longbottom. He's got a bunch of Wiggentree sprouts.” He waves his wand half-heartedly at the puddle of coffee, but nothing happens. “See, it's so awful I can't even do a Vanishing Spell.”

Jisung glances at Chenle's coffee-soaked schedule. “Hey, it's double Potions with Slytherin. At least we'll be together. Professor Noire won't be able to put us _both_ to sleep, right?”

Chenle sits up, looking mollified. “I guess.”

“See, you’re okay,” Jeno says, pulling his wand from his robes and pointing it at the spill on the table. “ _Evanesco.”_

The coffee vanishes, and Jeno doesn't think doing magic will ever get old. Even if it's something as simple as a Vanishing Spell.

“How does your schedule look?" Donghyuck asks Jeno, leaning over. “Advanced Arithmancy—ouch—Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology…aw, sweet, we've got the same block for Practical Defense Against the Dark Arts. The only difference is that you're taking Care of Magical Creatures and Potions, and I'm taking Astronomy and History of Magic." His brow wrinkles at the last one. “Really? _History?_ "

“It's important, Renjun says, shoveling cereal into his mouth. “Especially if you want to go into broomstick industry.”

Donghyuck eyes Renjun. “Since when have you _ever_ cared about the broomstick industry? I thought you didn't like Quidditch.”

“Yeah, but _you_ care,” Renjun says around his mouthful of chocolate cereal. “And you also won't shut up about it, so I decided to look it up. Because _I_ care, I guess.”

Donghyuck's eyes grow shiny and he claps a hand over his heart. “Renjun, I take back everything bad I've ever said about you. You're the kindest, greatest friend I could ever have. Besides Jeno, who's my ride-or-die, of course,” he says, and Jeno high-fives him without looking up from his oatmeal. 

Renjun rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You’re a massive dork. You’re all massive dorks.”

They finish up breakfast, and then Jisung has to run back down to his common room to get his school bag, which he’d left behind. Chenle decides to wait for him, because he’d rather be late with Jisung than early by himself, or something along that line of logic. Jeno and Donghyuck head towards the west doors for Herbology, and Renjun towards the third floor for Transfiguration, promising to meet up with them during their free period in a few hours. 

Jeno and Donghyuck make their way across the grounds. The sun is warm on their cheeks, though fall is creeping in, seen on the edges of the leaves and felt in the cool brush of the wind. Behind them, the castle is imposing and beautiful as ever, towers rising into the cloudless sky. 

“Kind of funny how this is our last year, right?” Donghyuck says as the greenhouses come into sight. “Seven years feels awfully short when you’re on the other end of them.” 

Jeno sighs. “Yeah.” There’s a lot more he has to say—that he _wants_ to say—but he doesn’t know how, or if it’ll even make sense. Hogwarts is home in a hundred different ways, and Jeno doesn’t think he could ever put that feeling into words. 

Professor Longbottom gives them a kind smile when they enter and find their seats in the back of the class. “It’s good to see you two again,” he enthuses. He’s got a smear of dirt along his cheekbone, and his hair is all over the place. Jeno doesn’t think he notices. “I’m glad you’re back.” 

“Me too,” Jeno says, really meaning it. Professor Longbottom’s smile widens, and he hands them their syllabus before heading to the front of the greenhouse. 

“Welcome, everyone,” he says, “to your seventh year.” 

* * *

Class flies by, and Jeno is soon so busy he doesn’t remember what having spare time feels like. He gets so much homework during the first three days that he forgets about Beauxbatons’ arrival until Donghyuck mentions it that Friday, while they’re sitting by the lake trying to struggle through immense amounts of reading. Well, they _were_ reading. Donghyuck is currently on his phone (the Wi-Fi only works in some parts of the castle, and this one particular spot by the lake) and Jeno is reading through his Quidditch notes, trying to figure out passing formations that’ll work effectively against the two monster Beaters Slytherin picked up last year. 

“So are you excited for the Beauxbatons students?” Donghyuck asks, rolling onto his stomach and tossing his phone aside. 

“Oh, damn, is that today?” Jeno replies, sitting upright. He massages his temples, trying to get his head to stop pounding. “How come it feels like we’ve been back at school for three months already?” 

“Magic wears off quick, doesn’t it,” Donghyuck remarks sullenly. “I can’t believe I ever _missed_ school. This is terrible.” 

“Did someone say Beauxbatons?” Chenle asks, tossing his bag down next to them. Jisung is behind him, looking very disgruntled. He’s got his arm in a sling. 

“What’d you do?” Jeno asks, feeling only mildly concerned. Jisung, being dedicated and unnecessarily competitive, often finds himself in situations that end with him getting hurt. If Chenle’s happy, however, then it probably isn’t that bad of an injury. 

“Overheard some Ravenclaws talking about how I failed the practical in Transfiguration last year,” Jisung mutters, sitting down next to Jeno. “So I called them out. And one of them jinxed me.” 

“They tripped him,” Chenle clarifies, looking delighted. “He sprained his wrist. It was hilarious. Anyways, the Beauxbatons! I’m really excited to meet them.” 

“Of course you are,” Donghyuck says affectionately, patting Chenle on the head. “I’m excited, also. I heard they’re big partiers.” He casts a sideways look at Jeno. “Maybe you’ll _finally_ find someone _worthy_ of your time, too,” he says pointedly. 

Jeno frowns. “It’s not like that. It’s just—” 

“Everyone you liked was older and graduated, yes, we know,” Donghyuck says. “The whole Mark Lee thing affected _all_ of us, Jeno. I’ve never seen someone so closed-off pine _so_ desperately.” 

“It wasn’t desperate,” Jeno mumbles, looking down at his hands. 

“Yes it was,” Jisung and Chenle chorus simultaneously. Donghyuck gives him a knowing look, and Jeno sighs. So maybe his singular focus on winning every single Quidditch match this year _and_ the Cup isn’t just because he’s dedicated to the sport. That’s certainly a part of it, true, but the whole Mark Lee thing had shaken him up so badly that he’d needed something new to throw himself into. Something that _didn’t_ involve another person. People break his heart. Quidditch—well, Quidditch breaks his heart, too, but at least he can come back and win the next match. Mark Lee was not winnable. Mark Lee just left Jeno with a gentle rejection, an awkward smile, and a very battered heart. 

“I do not want to do that again,” Jeno remarks, wincing. “I’m just focusing on Quidditch, remember? Not boys. Not for a while.” 

“Uh-huh,” Donghyuck says, shaking his head. “Sure.” 

Jeno heaves a massive sigh. There’s not really any point in trying to argue with Donghyuck, but he tries anyway. “I’m not joking, Hyuck. I mean it.” 

“We’ll see.” Donghyuck doesn’t say anything more, but a slow, foreboding feeling rolls down his spine anyway. He ignores it, ignores his friends, and focuses back on Quidditch.

* * *

The atmosphere in the Great Hall during dinner is electric. The chatter is excited, and the air thrums with anticipation. Nobody seems to have much of an appetite, and heads keep swinging around to the great wooden doors at the front, like they’ll open at any moment and reveal the Beauxbatons students. It feels like the headmistress is eating twice as slowly as usual, like she can’t tell that the whole Great Hall is holding its breath. After what feels like forever, she finally gets to her feet. Immediately, the hall goes quiet, reduced to nothing but faint whispers. 

“Thank you for waiting,” the headmistress says. “I know you’ve all been eager to meet your new classmates. So it is my pleasure to introduce Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.” She raises her hand in the direction of the doors, which swing open with a massive groan. Every single head swivels, students shifting in their seats or even standing up to get a look at the students in the doorway. 

There are about twenty of them, dressed in light blue and white. They look extraordinarily clean-cut and neat, Jeno thinks, especially against the scuffed stone floors and the dark window panes. They start down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff table unsurely. A few of their faces are a little pink, clearly not expecting the number of eyes on them. Chatter starts up again, cleaving the silence in two. 

“Welcome,” the headmistress greets, sweeping her arms out wide. “We’re very pleased to have you. Would you like to introduce yourselves?” 

“I can do it,” an older man says, his French accent so thick his words are nearly indiscernible. Donghyuck lets out a snort before clapping a hand over his mouth. His eyes are watering with the effort of keeping his laughter back. Jeno turns away from Hyuck before he starts laughing too. 

The man claps his hands twice and the students scramble to arrange themselves in a line. Jeno’s eyes flit from one face to another, some nervous, some not. 

Then he sees the boy, and his whole world comes to a halt. The professor is introducing himself and starts down the line. Jeno doesn’t hear, doesn’t even see. Everything has narrowed down to a single face— _that_ face, the one belonging to _that_ particular boy with the silver-purple hair. He’s doing nothing but standing, and his expression is neutral, but Jeno is already halfway in love with the slope of his nose and the shape of his mouth. Something about him _sings,_ pulling Jeno in, folding over him, asking if he’ll stay and never go—

“Bloody _hell_ ,” Donghyuck whispers sharply, and the elbow he jabs into Jeno’s side snaps him out of it. “Do you see—” 

“Yes,” Jeno breathes. “I see him.” 

Donghyuck also can’t seem to take his eyes off the boy. “He has to be…something. Magic. Something magic. There’s no way a human boy can do that.”

“He’s…” Jeno can’t find the right word. _Alluring_ isn’t right; neither is _handsome. Attractive_ is an understatement, and both _pretty_ and _beautiful_ are cheesy and not something Jeno would ever say aloud. 

Donghyuck glances at him. “You alright?” 

Jeno remembers to breathe. His head clears a little. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay.” But he makes an effort to listen closely to the Beauxbatons professor, so he doesn’t miss the name of the boy. 

“Adrien Duboix,” the professor says, and then points at the girl on the boy’s right. “Next is Lara Visser, and finally, Jaemin Na.” 

Jaemin Na’s expression flickers for a moment, but it’s quickly smoothed over and replaced with a winning smile. Jeno wants to call him over, and almost does before he remembers where he is. 

“Thank you for having us,” the French professor says, and the headmistress bows her head. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she returns, and starts applauding. A half-second later, the rest of the hall joins in. Some of the Beauxbatons students relax and wave. Jeno’s eyes are drawn back to Jaemin again. His hair seems to change color under the torchlight, and Jeno subconsciously knows that he’ll never see anyone more captivating, ever. 

Jaemin lifts his head, looking towards the Gryffindor table like he can hear Jeno’s thoughts. Their eyes meet through the sea of people, and Jeno feels like he’s been hit by a Full-Body Bind. He can’t even blink as Jaemin’s gaze flits over his face, curious. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s waiting for something, and Jeno can feel his heart thundering in his ears. With an immense amount of effort, he unfreezes and forces his mouth into what he hopes resembles a smile. Amusement glitters in Jaemin’s eyes, and the corner of his lips quirk slightly. Jeno feels a little faint. 

“Jeno, you good?” Donghyuck asks, putting a hand on Jeno’s back. The touch yanks him back into himself, and he takes another deep breath. He puts his head in his hand and groans. 

“I dunno, mate,” he mumbles. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.” 

“Is it still that boy?” Donghyuck asks. “They’re leaving now to go sit down for dessert.” 

“Shit, are they coming to sit _here?_ ” Jeno yelps, jerking upright and barely missing Vivian’s head with his elbow.

“No, with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,” Donghyuck reports, and Jeno doesn’t know if he feels relieved or disappointed. Maybe a little of both. 

“Bloody hell, Lee,” she grumbles at him. “What’s got you so riled up?” 

“Jaemin Na,” Donghyuck reports, and Jeno puts his head back in his hands. “Reckon he’s already halfway in love with the guy.” 

Vivian rises halfway in her seat as desserts fill the trays and bowls in the center of the table. It smells delicious, but Jeno’s lost his appetite. Jaemin is sitting on the opposite end of the hall, now, and it looks like he’s already made friends with half of the Ravenclaw table. 

“Oh, him?” Vivian says, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, I can see why he’d be an issue. He’s part-Veela, I bet. I’ve got a cousin who’s part-Veela, and everyone in the whole family looks at her like she’s hung the stars.” 

“How are you fine?” Jeno asks her, struggling against the cocktail of emotions in his chest. He fights the urge to look over at Jaemin again. 

Vivian bursts into laughter. “I’m not into blokes, Cap. That’s why.” 

“Lucky,” Jeno mumbles. He glances up at the Ravenclaw table again, only to find that Jaemin is already looking at him. His mouth quirks again, and Jeno chokes, nearly tipping backwards off the bench.

Donghyuck catches Jeno by the front of his robes and sighs. “This is going to be a long year.” 

* * *

The exchange students are given schedules just like the rest of them, and this is how Jeno finds himself in Defense Against the Dark Arts with Jaemin Na on Monday. 

“Oh no,” Jeno whispers as soon as he steps foot in the classroom and sees silvery-purple hair. “No, no, _no._ ” 

Donghyuck peeks over Jeno’s shoulder to see what he’s looking at. “Jeno, mate—” He starts consolingly, but Jeno whips around and grabs Donghyuck by the shoulders. 

“Hyuck, we have to skip class,” Jeno says, panicked. “I won’t be able to focus if he’s right there. What if he tries to talk to me?” 

“Okay, okay,” Donghyuck says, steering Jeno out of the classroom and into the hallway. “First, take a deep breath.” 

Jeno obliges, feeling like his knees are about to give out. 

“And secondly, _wake up._ You’re being unreasonable,” Donghyuck scolds. “It’s not like you to be this scattered. What happened to the decisive, cool-headed captain I know and love?” 

Somewhere in his mind, Jeno knows Donghyuck is right. He’s being totally irrational and flimsy. But at the same time, there’s just _something_ about Jaemin that has him totally knocked off-balance, unable to get his feet back under him. 

“You’re going to go in there,” Donghyuck says firmly, “and you’re going to sit down next to him. And you’re going to introduce yourself, and it’s going to be fine. And you’re going to stop this bullshit, funny as it is.” 

“Hey,” Jeno protests. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Mark—Mark wasn’t like this.” 

“Of course it’s not like Mark,” Donghyuck huffs. “Mark was soul-crushing love. This is soul-crushing _infatuation._ He’s half-Veela, remember? Their whole _thing_ is infatuation.” 

The logic is slowly starting to work, dissolving the panic that’s seized him. He takes another breath, nodding slowly. Donghyuck nods along with him, looking satisfied. “See?” He says. “You’ve got this. Go _talk_ to him, Jeno, and stop being weird about it. I’m sure he’s just like every other guy.” 

“Okay,” Jeno says, feeling more like himself. “Alright. I’ll give it go.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Donghyuck says encouragingly, and slaps Jeno hard on the back. “He’s pretty, you’re pretty, and hey, maybe something will happen.” 

“Don’t say that,” Jeno says quickly, and Donghyuck holds his hands up in apology. 

“I’m getting you a Calming Draught next time we have this class,” Donghyuck mutters, and gives Jeno a shove. “Go.” 

Jeno stumbles into the classroom just as Professor Zhao emerges from her office, taking her place at the front. “Mr. and Mr. Lee,” she says mildly, and both Donghyuck and Jeno give her guilty looks as they hurry to their seats. 

Jaemin is sitting in front of him, and the back of Jeno’s neck is sweating as he focuses all his energy on Professor Zhao as she talks about Advanced Shielding Charms and Shattering Jinxes. 

“So we’re going to partner up and practice them,” she says after they’ve written down some notes. “I want you to use non-harming jinxes and hexes _only._ Start with just _Protego_ , and then attempt _Protego_ _Maxima._ You should notice a significant difference.” 

She starts pairing people off. Jeno, out of habit, moves towards Donghyuck, but Professor Zhao gives him a considering look before pointing at Jaemin. “Will you pair up with our new student, Mr. Lee? Make him feel welcome?” 

Jeno can hear Donghyuck sniggering behind him, and Professor Zhao gives him an encouraging nod. 

“Sure,” Jeno says reluctantly, packing his stuff back into his bag and getting to his feet. Once everyone is standing, Professor Zhao flicks her wand. All of the desks fly back and pack themselves neatly against the wall, giving them plenty of room to practice. 

“Begin,” she announces. “I’ll be walking around and helping out.” 

Donghyuck gives Jeno a pointed look and jerks his chin in Jaemin’s direction. _Introduce yourself,_ he mouths. Jeno nods firmly, squares his shoulders, and walks up to Jaemin, who’s rummaging around in his bag. 

“Oh, hey,” Jaemin says when he straightens. Jeno tries to ignore the playful lilt to his words and instead focuses on the lack of French accent. “You were the one from the Great Hall last night, weren’t you?” 

Jeno fights back a blush, but there’s no point in denying it. “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you in person, though. My name’s Jeno Lee.” He sticks his hand out, impressed that it doesn’t tremble.

Jaemin smiles and takes Jeno’s hand, shaking it. Jeno’s palm tingles a little even after Jaemin lets go. “Nice to meet you, Jeno Lee,” he says, and Jeno head gets a little fuzzy at his name in Jaemin’s voice. “Do you want to shield first, or do you want me to?” 

“Uh, you can,” Jeno says, snapping out of it and taking a step back. The distance helps; Jaemin smells like lavender and something heavier. It’s incredibly distracting. He fires off a Revulsion Jinx, and Jaemin parries it soundlessly, his shield flashing opaque as Jeno’s jinx bounces harmlessly off of it. 

Jeno can’t help the way his eyebrows raise. A nonverbal shield? He _swears_ someone told him Beauxbaton students were weak in offensive magic…maybe it was Donghyuck? He sends a few more jinxes Jaemin’s way, and he counters each easily, almost lazily. 

“You don’t have a French accent,” Jeno says, stalling while he wracks his brain for a stronger spell he can use. 

Jaemin shrugs. “I’m originally from England, if you can believe it. My parents moved and sent me to Beauxbatons because that’s where my mom went to school, and they have this whole…thing against Hogwarts.” 

“What thing?” Jeno asks, curious. Jaemin purses his lips and gestures, the universal motion for _come at me._

“ _Expelliarmus,_ ” Jeno says, gathering his strength and pointing his wand at Jaemin. Jaemin shields a second too late, and his wand goes flying out of his hand. Jeno’s Chaser reflexes kick in and he catches it without thinking, snagging it out of the air before it can hit Donghyuck’s partner in the head. He walks over and hands it back to Jaemin, who looks a little impressed. 

“Nice catch,” he says. “And it’s because of the Battle of Hogwarts. She doesn’t want me to get attacked.” 

“That was over twenty years ago,” Jeno says. “She sent you all the way to France just for _that?_ ” 

“She’s paranoid,” Jaemin shrugs. “It’s how she was raised.” 

Professor Zhao comes by and stops between them. “Have you attempted the _Maxima_ version yet?” 

“Not yet,” Jaemin says. “But I could try, if you want.” 

Professor Zhao nods. “Let’s see it. Mr. Lee?” 

_Oh boy,_ Jeno thinks, but he complies. “ _I_ _mpedimenta_ ,” he says. 

“ _Protego Maxima_ ,” Jaemin counters, and his shield is so powerful the spell rebounds off it and back at Jeno, who is knocked off his feet. He slams into the floor so hard the breath is forced from him, robes tangling around his legs. The back of his head aches, and he shakes the fuzziness from his vision. 

Jaemin leans over him, hiding his smile with the back of his hand. 

“You’re laughing at me,” Jeno accuses, sitting up and rubbing his head. “That _hurt._ ” 

“Sorry,” Jaemin says, and when Jeno gives him a look of disbelief, he raises his hands. “No, I really am. I didn’t mean to rebound it right back at you.” When Jeno _still_ doesn’t believe him, he rolls his eyes. “Well, okay, maybe I meant it a _little._ But I only did it because I knew you could take it.” He extends his hand, and Jeno takes it. 

“Alright, fine,” Jeno relents at last. Jaemin laughs and hauls Jeno to his feet, and it’s in that exact moment that Jeno decides he’ll do just about anything for Jaemin Na, if just to hear that laugh again. 

They switch sides, and Jaemin takes a turn hexing while Jeno shields. He can do it nonverbally, too, but it takes significantly more effort for him than it did Jaemin. He also can’t quite get the hang of the _Maxima_ version, much to his embarrassment, and gets hit with an unfairly strong Jelly-Legs Jinx that takes Jaemin a few tries to undo. They swap conversation as they go, and Jeno finds himself falling into the sound of Jaemin’s voice, soaking up the trivial details of his life and packing them away to remember for later. 

At the end of class, Jeno is so happy that everything’s taken on a golden, dream-like quality. Jaemin laughs at a joke he makes as they gather their stuff and head towards the doorway. There’s a moment where they hesitate before parting ways, and Jeno gathers every ounce of bravery that he possesses. 

“So, uh,” he starts, and Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “Would you—” 

“I’ve met a lot of boys like you, Jeno Lee,” Jaemin interrupts, and the dreaminess shatters around Jeno as he deflates. The inside of his mouth tastes like ash. 

“But,” Jaemin continues, “you’re funny. I like that. Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

Jeno nods woodenly. “Sure.” 

Jaemin smiles at him, dazzling, like he hadn’t just trodden all over Jeno’s heart. “Great. Have a good rest of your day!” 

Jeno manages a wave, and then watches Jaemin walk off, parting the sea of students, hair glowing like a beacon. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so disheartened in his whole life. 

“That was _brutal,_ ” Donghyuck says from behind him, and Jeno turns to see both him and Renjun wearing equally sympathetic expressions. 

“Goddamn,” Renjun adds, wincing. He comes over and pats Jeno on the head a few times. “Are you alright?” 

Jeno doesn’t know. His whole brain is filled with static. 

“Give him a moment,” Donghyuck says wisely. “He doesn’t do well with disappointment. This is a normal reaction.” 

“Okay, but can we give him a moment and walk to the library at the same time?” Renjun asks. “This paper isn’t going to write itself.” 

They start in the direction of the library, and Jeno slowly processes and reorganizes. They were getting along _so_ well in the beginning. There’s no way Jaemin could’ve faked that whole thing, right? Unless he was just messing with Jeno…with a face like that, he probably _did_ have a hundred boys just like Jeno after him. 

But something about the way Jaemin had laughed—about the way he’d _smiled_ —makes Jeno think it wasn’t just a nasty prank. 

Jeno snaps his fingers, the pieces finally clicking. “It’s a test.” 

Donghyuck startles at the outburst. “ _What’s_ a test?” 

“What Jaemin said to me,” Jeno explains, and excitement chases the rest of the static out. “How he’d met a hundred boys like me.” 

“I’d call that a stone-cold rejection, not a test,” Renjun says dubiously. “It didn’t really leave much room for argument.” 

“No, _listen,_ ” Jeno insists. “He’s probably sick of people fancying him _just_ because he’s half-Veela. It probably feels so fake to him.” 

Donghyuck is starting to get it, probably because he’s got the same extremely stupid idea that Jeno does. Renjun, on the other hand, is staring at him like he’s suddenly started speaking Parseltongue. 

“So it wasn’t a rejection,” Donghyuck says, eyes widening, “it was really him telling you—” 

“—to prove that I’m _not_ like the others,” Jeno finishes, and offers Donghyuck his hand. Donghyuck slaps it, the sound ringing out through the hallway. It sounds like victory, Jeno thinks.

“You two are absolutely _mad,_ ” Renjun says flatly. “Don’t get me involved with whatever shenanigans you’re going to cook up.” 

“You need to do something _big_ ,” Donghyuck says. “Well, we need a lot of little things, but you need something _huge_ at the end where you can declare your love once and for all.” 

“We’re going to go undefeated in Quidditch,” Jeno decides. “Not just win the Cup. He won’t be able to say no then.” 

“That is an _outstanding_ idea,” Donghyuck gasps, and they high-five again. Jeno feels like he might burst with excitement. “Win the boy of your dreams, bring glory to your House and go down in history as one of the best captains of all time. I’m in.” 

“I’m _out,_ ” Renjun announces. “I don’t want to get a detention. I have better things to do.” 

“Renjun, _please,_ ” Donghyuck begs. “You’re so smart…so confident…with you on our side, we’ll be able to pull off so much…please…” 

Renjun glares at the two of them for a moment before sighing reluctantly. “I am going to regret this.” 

Jeno can’t help but whoop, launching himself at Renjun and slinging an arm around his neck. “You won’t regret it, I promise,” Jeno says. “You’re the best.” 

“I better be,” Renjun mutters, but he doesn’t move Jeno’s arm. 

_And so it begins,_ Jeno thinks, smiling to himself. _Here I come, Jaemin Na._

* * *

Jeno may not be as bright as Renjun or as charismatic as Donghyuck, but what he lacks in those two qualities he makes up for with determination. Jaemin manages to disappear every time Jeno is looking for him, somehow, which disheartens Jeno a little but not enough to convince him to give it all up. It's only the first week, after all, and even if Jaemin is being a little evasive, Jeno's far from giving up.

“What if he doesn't like you?" Renjun asks on Thursday morning while they sit at the Gryffindor table, as per usual. "Maybe he got wind of your plan."

“No way," Donghyuck argues. "There's no way he's heard of it, and besides, even if he _did,_ Jeno's too nice to be evaded."

“Nice or not, that appears to be the case anyway," Renjun points out. "Jisung, what do you think?"

“I don't think the plan will work, honestly," Jisung says, mouth full of hard-boiled egg, "but I support you anyway. I think it's good that you're not still pining after Mark."

“That's very nice of you to say," Jeno replies, and Jisung gives him a thumbs up. Chenle, who'd been talking with Chaser Mia Wilshore, jumps back in the conversation.

“Jeno's still pining after Mark?" He asks, eyes widening. " _Really?_ I thought was ages ago, Jeno?"

“He's _done_ pining after Mark," Jisung clarifies, "because he fancies someone else. That's why he's being stupid and trying to win every Quidditch match _and_ the Cup, just so he can prove that he's _not like other boys._ " Jisung's face scrunches as he says those last words, but Chenle lights up.

“You fancy someone? Who? Who is it?" Chenle asks, scooting closer to Jisung and leaning in. Mia Wilshore's fork pauses halfway to her mouth, and Jeno casts the people around him wary looks. He doesn't want everyone in the whole school to know about him and Jaemin—doesn't want the attention, doesn't want the prodding, intrusive questions. He also doesn't want to spook Jaemin, in case it looks like he's bragging or showing off. Because he's _not._ He's one-hundred percent serious about this.

"I'll tell you later," he says to Chenle, who looks put-out. But Mia keeps eating her food, and the rest of the table goes back to minding their own business, easing some of the uncomfortable heat from the back of Jeno's neck.

"Well, at least we've got D.A.D.A today," Donghyuck says, "which means Jaemin can't magically vanish on you, and you can talk to him."

Jeno's stomach immediately knots. _Thinking_ about talking to Jaemin is all fine and good, and in theory, Jeno is calm, cool and collected, clever and well-worded and not nervous in the slightest. In reality, he is the opposite of all of those things and twice as prone to jinx himself on top of that. A disaster, in short. Jaemin turns him into a disaster.

But he's committed to this plan—and by extension, his heart—so he's got to carry through. And that means squaring his shoulders and actually _talking_ to Jaemin.

"I wish there was just a spell that let me look into his mind and figure out exactly what he likes and what he wants," Jeno mumbles, taking a sip of his tea to try to calm his nerves.

"There's _Legilimens_ ," Renjun points out. "Except it's incredibly illegal and difficult to perform."

"I wouldn't want to do that, anyway," Jeno says. "My whole thing is about respect and getting to know him the old-fashioned Muggle way."

"Conversation," Donghyuck surmises, and Jeno nods, staring into his tea and taking a deep breath. There's a moment of silence as they all consider Jeno's social skills around extremely attractive, enchanting half-Veela boys.

"Jeno, you know I love you," Jisung says kindly, "but I think you're sort of fucked."

* * *

Jeno gets to class ten minutes early but doesn't actually go in, too amped up and filled with frenetic, nervous energy that feels like it's eating away at his bones.

“Hyuck," he groans, pacing back and forth, “why did I decide to do this? Why can't I just let myself off the hook and back out? What's so special about J—"

“Jeno, hi!" A voice says from behind him, chiming and sweet and all-too-familiar. Jeno's stomach drops to his knees and his heart threatens to stop. Donghyuck looks like he's about to burst into laughter as Jeno slowly turns around to come face-to-face with Jaemin Na himself, smiling slightly and looking unfairly beautiful in his school uniform.

“Hi, Jaemin," Jeno says, slightly breathless. He shakes his head a little, scrambling to find somewhere else to look besides Jaemin's eyes. He settles on Jaemin's chin, which is still part of his face but (slightly) less distracting all other parts of his head. “How are you? I haven't seen you in a few days."

“Oh, I've been really busy," Jaemin says. “Settling into the castle, finding all my classes, all of that. I feel like a first year," he adds, and laughs. Jeno can't help but smile at the sound. “Yesterday I got stuck in one of those trap stairs," Jaemin says, and it's Jeno's turn to laugh. Jaemin gives him a rueful grin. "It took me fifteen minutes to get free."

“Hogwarts has a mind of its own," Jeno agrees, and there's an expectant pause. Jeno summons up every inch of courage within him and makes the leap. "I could show you around, if you'd like? Teach you some shortcuts and all of that so you can get around faster."

Jaemin's eyebrows raise, and something about his expression tells Jeno he wasn't anticipating _that._ "You'd do that?"

“Of course," Jeno says, trying not to sound over-eager and not sure if he's succeeding. "I love the castle—I think it'd be fun."

Jaemin considers this for a moment, and Jeno can feel Donghyuck holding his breath. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet for the entirety of the exchange, and Jeno thinks he's underestimated Donghyuck's wingman ability. "I'd like that," Jaemin says at last, and Jeno feels like the roof has opened up above him to let the sun in. "Thanks, Jeno."

"No problem," Jeno hears himself say, and he practically floats into the classroom after Jaemin. He can feel Donghyuck shaking him, patting him on the back, whispering _good job you rock_ and _see I told you_ into his ear. He barely hears a word of what Professor Zhao is saying about detecting Imperius Curses, too busy replaying Jaemin's small, almost _shy_ smile and the way he'd said _I'd like that._ It's a small victory, Jeno knows, but it fills him with just enough hope to keep carrying him forwards, towards the small voice that says _I think Jaemin Na is worth it._

* * *

Jaemin promises to meet Jeno in front of the Great Hall after classes end, which gives Jeno approximately twenty minutes to sprint from Potions in the basement all the way across and up to Gryffindor Tower, where he changes out of his robes as fast as he can. Donghyuck comes in as Jeno makes a break for the door, pulling on a hoodie as he hurtles down the stairs. 

“Where are you going?” Donghyuck shouts as Jeno narrowly avoids crashing into a few third years. 

“Jaemin!” Is all Jeno shouts back, knowing the name itself is fairly self-explanatory. He runs as fast as he can towards the Great Hall, shoving past students and teachers alike, tossing _sorry_ s and _pardon me_ s over his shoulder. 

He’s extremely winded by the time he makes it down to the hall, but he’s arrived before Jaemin, which is all that matters. He braces his hands on his knees, trying to get control of his breath. There’s a painful stitch forming in his side, and he sort of feels like he might be sick. 

A pair of very clean Pumas enter his vision. Jeno quickly straightens, brushing off the front of his hoodie and pretending like he’s not sweating to death in it. Jaemin is standing in front of him, smiling slightly. He’s also changed out of his uniform, and is wearing a blue fleece and dark jeans. There’s no reason for Jeno’s heart to skip the way it does, but Jaemin has been doing funny things to Jeno’s feelings since the day he arrived. 

“All right?” Jeno asks, sticking his hands in his pockets. “How were the rest of your classes?” 

“Not bad,” Jaemin says. “I had Charms with, um—” 

“Trillwind?” Jeno fills in, and Jaemin nods. “Yeah, she’s decent. I’ve always liked Charms. Where do you want to go first?” 

“I don’t have any place in mind,” Jaemin says. “I’ve been on most floors, I think, but I get so confused.” 

“We can walk through your schedule, if you’d like?” Jeno offers, and Jaemin nods eagerly, reaching into his fleece’s pocket and pulling out a wrinkled sheet of paper. His schedule is in French, but luckily, the word for _Transfiguration_ is the same between the two languages. It is, however, so creased and crumpled that it’s nearly impossible to read, so Jeno lets Jaemin tell him where they need to go. 

“So, Charms,” Jaemin says as they head up towards the third floor History classroom. “You like it?” 

“Yeah, I’ve always had a knack for it,” Jeno replies, dodging a few tiny Slytherins. “I _do_ want to go on and play league Quidditch, but eventually I’d like a real job, too.” 

“Everyone always expects Beauxbatons students to be good at Charms and not much else,” Jaemin says, wrinkling his nose. “ _Especially_ me. Because I’m…” He trails off, and looks over at Jeno expectantly. 

“Because you’re…cute?” Jeno offers timidly, wincing at his word choice. He wishes the stairs would swallow him whole, his face burning hot. 

Luckily, Jaemin laughs. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say,” he tells Jeno, who still wishes Disapparation was possible inside of Hogwarts, but feels a little less awkward. 

“It’s still true,” Jeno says, gaining some of his confidence back. “And I’m sure you _are_ good at Charms—but you’re _fantastic_ at Defense magic.” 

Jaemin beams at Jeno so widely that he nearly misses a step. “I work really hard at it,” Jaemin says, cheeks going a little pink. “I’m surprised you noticed.” 

“How could I not?” Jeno asks, genuinely confused. Jaemin is easily the best in the class—he’d come in today with half of the countercurses they’d practiced already memorized. “You’re brilliant. Really.” 

Jaemin’s smile softens a little, and Jeno feels like it’s the most genuine look Jaemin has given him so far. “Thank you,” he says quietly—maybe a little shyly? Jeno doesn’t want to push his luck or get ahead of himself, but it feels like he’s just passed some kind of test. 

Jaemin seems to enjoy the rest of the tour, Jeno notes with some pride as he points out vanishing steps and friendly portraits. He explains that the staircases change faster or slower depending on the weather—if it’s raining, prepare to sprint, because most will only stay in one place for two minutes or so before switching. Jaemin asks him about favorite spots, about hiding places, and Jeno finds himself focusing less on navigation and information and more on stories. The castle is full of them—its walls have seen generations upon generations of students, from the old Headmaster Dumbledore to the Potters and Professor Longbottom and now him. Maybe a second year will take someone through this hallway once he’s gone and talk about Jeno Lee, seventeen and halfway in love with a boy he’d met a week ago. Or maybe they’ll talk about Jeno Lee and the Gryffindor team, set to win every single match for the first time in years. 

At the end of it, Jeno’s sides are sore with laughter and his face hurts from smiling so much, and Jaemin’s cheeks are flushed, eyes alive and sparkling. The cool air outside is a respite from the stuffy upper floors and classrooms, and the tops of the trees are starting to turn red and orange. October is nearly here, and with it, the start of Quidditch season. Jeno’s fingers tingle in anticipation as he looks out at the pitch, the hoops dark against the sky. 

Jaemin looks at Jeno, and his eyes are like a tangible thing on the back of Jeno’s neck. “I heard you’re not going to lose a game this year,” Jaemin says. “That’s pretty impressive.” 

_Impressive is what I’m going for,_ Jeno thinks, but aloud, he says, “Yeah, you know. Wanted to give the team something before I left.” 

“Hey, Lee!” Someone shouts from across the grounds. They’re too far away for Jeno to recognize, but he waves anyway. “Reckon you’re gonna win this year?” 

“Count on it!” Jeno shouts back, heart leaping in his chest. A small cheer rises from the group the person’s in; they’re all Gryffindors, from what Jeno can tell. He’s usually a little nervous, making promises like this and pretending to be more confident than he is. But this is _Quidditch._ This isn’t just for him; this is for every single Gryffindor, and most of all, it’s for his team. 

Jaemin is still looking at him, and Jeno loses his train of thought when their eyes meet. He’s so damn _attractive,_ Jeno thinks sadly. Every part about him fits with the next, and he manages to be every inch himself and also embody every single thing Jeno likes, from his mouth to his cheeks all the way down to how he stands. 

“Thanks for the tour,” Jaemin says, and there’s something in his expression that makes Jeno want to know more. “You’re a good listener.” 

“You too,” Jeno stutters, his heart in his throat. “Thanks for saying yes.” 

“Mm,” Jaemin hums, tilting his head slightly. “I’m glad I did.” 

“Come sit at breakfast with us,” Jeno blurts, unable to help himself. Jaemin blinks, a little surprised, but quickly composes himself. “Quidditch starts soon, and, uh, I don’t know how much time I’ll have. But I want to…talk more.” 

Jaemin regards Jeno for a long moment. “We’ll see,” he settles on, and while it’s not a solid yes, it’s not a _no_ either. In fact, it’s so far from _I’ve seen a lot of guys like you_ that Jeno already feels victory creeping on him. He bites back a smile, and Jaemin’s mouth quirks, inscrutable. 

“See you soon, Jeno Lee,” Jaemin says, patting Jeno on the shoulder. “Win those games for your team, alright?” 

Jeno nods, feeling like he’s on the verge of exploding. It’s a miracle he’s even able to say goodbye to Jaemin like a normal person. As soon as Jaemin’s back is turned, he can’t stop the elation, the excitement, the stunning, all-consuming _joy_ : Jaemin hadn’t said yes, but he hadn’t said no, and that’s better than Jeno could ever hope for. If he thought he was determined before, it’s increased by twofold now. He _has_ to win. And then maybe, just maybe, Jaemin will sit with him at breakfast and tell him more stories about France, about his friends, and maybe, _just maybe,_ they’ll fall in love together. 

* * *

October is heralded by cold winds and red-orange hues, painting the trees, the sky, and the grass in one last burst of color before winter comes. The sun sets early, and the nights will grow more bitter. Halloween hovers in front of them, tantalizing, promising a temporary relief from the wash-rinse-repeat cycle of classes. Quidditch season also begins, which means Jeno gets to stand on the pitch for his last beginning-of-season speech, Donghyuck at his side. 

“This is it,” Jeno says once they’re all there, gathered around him in their practice clothes, bundled against the night chill. “This is the beginning of a year that will go down in history.” 

“Hell yes,” Vivian, the Keeper, says. 

Jeno takes a deep breath, trying to keep it together. “Hyuck and I are seventh years,” he continues, “which means we’ve got one last shot with the bravest, hardest-working team in _history_ to win this thing.” 

Chaser Mia Wilshore sniffs loudly. “We’re gonna do it,” she assures him, and the rest of the team nods, determined. “We’re Gryffindors, and we love you. Also we all know about that Beauxbatons boy you fancy.” The last part she blurts out very quickly, and Lynne Green, the other Beater, jabs an elbow into Mia’s ribs. She winces, but Jeno sighs. It’s not like he was _aiming_ for subtlety, and if he’s going to win every single game, he needs his team to be on the same page as him anyway. 

“Yeah,” Jeno admits, and Vivian, Donghyuck and Sean Bellingham, the Chaser, snicker loudly. “But at the end of the day, it’s not about him. It’s about _us._ So let’s train hard, yeah? Show the other Houses we’re dead-set on this.” 

“Gryffindor on three!” Donghyuck shouts, sticking his hand out. Everyone stacks their hands on top of Donghyuck’s, gathering close. 

“One, two, three,” Donghyuck counts off, and they all join him and roar _Gryffindor_ with all their might. Their voices echo through the air—a promise, a prayer, and a call to arms. 

Jeno mounts his broomstick while Jason Elliot, the third and youngest Chaser, grabs the Quaffle. Last year, Jeno had filled in two vacant spots—a Chaser and the Seeker—which means this year, they’re a well-oiled machine. No need to explain drills, or warm-ups, because everyone just knows. It’s only the first practice, but the air is electric, the energy shared between them focused and warm. It is from seven people who share one goal, one mindset, and are utterly set on it. 

Jeno runs defensive maneuvers with Jason; Mia, who’s probably the cleverest flier, works with Vivian at the hoops. Donghyuck and Lynne stay close to the ground, enchanting volleyballs to fly at top speed, nearly taking off Sean’s head as he practices dodging. Donghyuck is clearly enjoying himself, whacking the volleyball far harder than necessary and cackling as Sean is forced to roll to one side to avoid it. 

As the week wears on, the energy keeps up. The team quickly falls into a rhythm, and Jeno tumbles into bed each night utterly exhausted but content. 

Wednesday, after a particularly grueling practice that ended with the sky opening up on them and soaking them in freezing rain, Jeno receives a surprise. He emerges from the locker room, warm from the shower and not looking forward to running back to the castle with his robes over his head. He regrets leaving his wand in the common room, and gives the curtain of rain a baleful glance as he pushes open the door, and immediately freezes when he sees Jaemin Na, standing right outside, holding an umbrella and looking very dry. 

At first, Jeno thinks he’s hallucinating, but then Jaemin gives him a wave and says his name. 

“Jaemin?” Jeno asks stupidly. “What are you doing here?” 

“What do you think?” Jaemin asks, hefting the umbrella pointedly. “It’s pouring rain, and Donghyuck said you’d stayed behind to look over practice notes. He also mentioned something about a…trick? And your brain? I don’t know, actually. He said a lot of things.” 

“Um,” Jeno says, face getting hot. Donghyuck promised he’d help Jeno win Jaemin over, but he’s also about as subtle as a slap to the face. “It’s best to ignore Donghyuck, I’ve found. Sorry ‘bout him.” 

“It’s fine,” Jaemin replies, laughing a little. “It was actually extraordinarily funny. I have no idea what a double-loop turn is, but it sounds impressive.” 

“It’s…it’s really not,” Jeno says, floundering now that Jaemin’s smile is out in full force and pointed directly at him. God, he’s already such a sucker for that expression. He’d literally sell his broomstick and empty his vault in Gringotts if it meant he got to see that smile every day. “It’s just dumb Quidditch stuff.” 

“‘Dumb Quidditch stuff,’ you say,” Jaemin quotes, eyes glimmering with amusement. “I say it sounds pretty amazing.” 

The compliment settles over Jeno warmly, and for a second, it feels like the sky has cleared to let the sun through. He knows he’s blushing, but can’t find it in him to care, not when Jaemin is looking at him like that, open and genuine. 

Jeno’s stomach ruins the moment by gurgling loudly, and Jaemin laughs, the sound too bright for the dreary weather. “Dinner’s just started,” Jaemin tells him. “Donghyuck said he would save us seats if you don’t take too long.” 

_Us,_ Jeno thinks victoriously, heart speeding in his chest as he presses close to Jaemin, tucking himself under the umbrella. Jaemin links their arms as they trudge back to the castle and Jeno pretends not to notice, pretends to not care about the way Jaemin’s warmth bleeds through Jeno’s sweater and into his skin. Jaemin still smells like lavender, even in the rain. 

And if they take a little extra longer to walk—well, nobody has to know but them. 

* * *

Jaemin begins to join Jeno and his friends at breakfast, and is folded into the group naturally, like there was always a spot for him and none of them noticed until it was filled. 

It’s a Saturday morning—well, more like afternoon, since it’s almost noon—and there’s an excited buzz about the hall, especially amongst the third years. The first Hogsmeade visit is this weekend, since classes have settled in and the Beauxbatons students are no longer subjects of conversation. They have their own robes at this point, only their ties are silky, sky blue and the crest on the breast is not a House but the Beauxbatons crest. 

“All right, Jeno?” Donghyuck asks as Jeno sits down and pulls breakfast—still hot, thank god for magic—towards him. 

“Yeah, decent,” Jeno replies, dumping bacon and toast onto his plate. “Where’s Jaemin?” 

“Right there,” Renjun says without looking up from the _Daily Prophet_ he and Chenle are sharing.

Sure enough, more than a few heads swivel towards the entryway as Jaemin walks in, and there’s the familiar dream-like feeling, temporarily clouding Jeno’s thoughts. Jaemin seems to notice all the attention on him, but he ignores everyone that tries to offer him a spot or say hello and makes a beeline for the Gryffindor table, sliding in next to Renjun. 

“Hi Jaemin,” Donghyuck says as Jeno pushes food across the table towards him. “How are you?” 

“Tired,” Jaemin answers, brushing aside the tea Jisung offers him and going straight for coffee. “What’s all the chatter about?” 

“Hogsmeade,” Jeno says, mouth full of toast. “We’re going after breakfast. Want to come with us?” 

Renjun gives Jeno a sly look over the top of his paper, and Chenle hides a smile behind his glass of orange juice. Jaemin takes a sip of coffee, considers this, and then nods. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, and Jeno’s whole face goes warm. Jaemin smiles, eyes creasing, and Jeno feels like he’s on the verge of combusting. 

They finish up eating and part ways temporarily to go get jackets and money, and then meet back up to get their names checked by Professor Trillwind. The sky is overcast but doesn’t look like rain, and the air is a little warmer than it has been this past week. Jeno hasn’t been to Hogsmeade in a while; not since last year, when he went with Mark before final exams. 

The thought of Mark is a sobering one—enough to pull him from the conversation and into his own head, where he stays until Renjun, ever-perceptive, nudges him. 

“Earth to Jeno,” Renjun says, and Jeno snaps back into the present and out of slightly forlorn memories of how Mark Lee looked in his robes. “What’s on your mind?” 

“Nothing,” Jeno says, so quiet he’s not sure Renjun can hear him over the sound of the carriage wheels. Renjun gives him a long, knowing look, and Jeno caves with a sigh. “Just…Mark.” 

“Mark Lee?” Renjun asks, frowning. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.” 

“The last time I went to Hogsmeade was with him,” Jeno says, picking at a loose thread on his jacket. He’s wearing ordinary clothing—so is everyone, and if it wasn’t for the horseless carriage or the fact that Donghyuck is turning pine needles into feathers, they’d pass for ordinary teenagers, headed out for a reprieve from their schoolwork. “It’s just…everything was going so well, and now it’s like, _bam,_ back to stupid Mark Lee.” 

“Mark took a lot out of you, I get it,” Renjun says. “But I also think you’re ready to let him go, Jeno. You can’t hold on forever. I thought it was going really well with you and Jaemin?”

“It is,” Jeno says, watching Jaemin sling an arm around Jisung’s shoulders, laughing. He’s clever, a fantastic listener, and spellbinding in a way Jeno has never seen—and will never see again, he suspects. 

“You do realize he’s coming with us for _you,_ Jeno,” Renjun points out. “Which means that this place can’t be about Mark Lee anymore. It has to be about you. _Just_ you. And maybe, if you play your cards right and stop your moping, it could be about Jaemin, too.” 

Jeno sighs. “You’re right.” 

“I often am,” Renjun says, patting Jeno on the shoulder. “Jaemin likes you, Jeno. Even if he’s still being coy.” 

The hopeful ember that Jeno has carefully been tending for the last few weeks flares in excitement. It’s _not_ just him, then—other people have noticed. Which means that slowly but surely ( _very_ slowly, but that’s fine, that’s his style) Jaemin is starting to open up to him. 

Like he can sense Jeno’s thoughts, Jaemin looks up. His eyes still do a funny thing to Jeno’s heart, but this time he can smile, and Mark Lee fades from his mind completely. Jaemin cocks his head, amused, but Jeno just grins wider.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Jaemin asks as the carriage grinds to a halt, stopping at the entrance of the village. 

“I dunno,” Jeno says, hopping down after Chenle. He offers a hand to Jaemin, which causes Renjun to snort. “Maybe because you’re cute?” 

Jaemin snorts as well, rolling his eyes, but his cheeks are pink and he takes Jeno’s proffered hand. 

Jeno has to fight against an onslaught of memories as he follows his friends down the cobbled paths of Hogsmeade, past sweet-smelling restaurants and cozy, cluttered shops with glittering window displays. Jisung and Donghyuck make a beeline for Zonko’s Joke Shop almost immediately, while Renjun grabs Chenle and says something about getting a new cauldron, quickly leaving Jeno and Jaemin by themselves on High Street. 

“Well,” Jeno says, rubbing the back of his neck and fighting hard against awkwardness, “what did you want to do?” 

Jaemin looks around, and points at the Three Broomsticks. “There,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to try English Butterbeer.” 

“Good choice,” Jeno says, and starts to make his way through the rush of people. Jaemin puts a tentative hand in the crook of Jeno’s elbow, tightening his grip when a group of students threatens to separate them. Jeno misses the contact as soon as Jaemin lets go. 

The Three Broomsticks is crowded, as expected, and Jeno remembers coming in here with Mark last year, shaking with nerves after somehow fooling himself into thinking it was something like a date. Instead, Mark had bought him a drink and told him _you’re a great guy, but._

He shakes his head, remembering what Renjun said. He turns to Jaemin, about to ask him if he wants to try and find a spot at the bar, but he’s gone. Panic shoots through Jeno, and he stands on his tiptoes, on the verge of whipping out his wand and using a locator spell. _Oh fuck,_ Jeno thinks, feeling stupider with each passing second. He had _one_ job—or maybe Jaemin got bored of him, and decided to leave.

It’s at this exact moment that he spots Jaemin’s silver-purple hair in the center of a growing crowd near the bar, curious people straining for a look at the pretty, unfamiliar boy. Jeno’s panic subsides as irritation starts to take its place, irrational and unfair. He _knows_ it’s not Jaemin’s fault for being half-Veela, that he pulls people in without being able to help it. But it still does a number on Jeno’s self-confidence, especially when this crowd in particular is graduated students and adults in their mid-twenties, clean-faced and confident, infinitely better-looking and more impressive than Jeno, with his old Gryffindor jumper and beat-up denim jacket. He knows he’s not the only one thinking it, either, because when he pushes through the crowd to get to Jaemin, he gets several judgemental, sharp glares and a _hey, kid_ from a particularly irate woman. 

“Jaemin,” Jeno says, and Jaemin turns towards the sound of his voice. Jeno takes a deep breath, ready to fire off something appropriately self-deprecating, but Jaemin looks so overwhelmed, so deeply uncomfortable, that it burns away any irritation or doubt Jeno had been feeling. When he sees Jeno, his relief is so potent and clear that it actually makes Jeno feel a little _guilty._

“Sorry, I’m here with someone,” Jaemin says, squeezing past the crowd with two unopened bottles of Butterbeer. He doesn’t sound very sorry, Jeno thinks, a small part of him fluttering. Jaemin presses into his side, muttering under his breath. “Let’s go to the back,” he tells Jeno. “Or outside. I don’t care, as long as it’s away from here.” 

“Alright, yeah,” Jeno says, scanning the room. A couple at a tiny, crooked table near the back door gets up to leave, and Jeno leads Jaemin towards it. The crowd disperses almost immediately after Jaemin leaves, though Jeno overhears one guy asking his friend, “What was with that guy? Doesn’t he know he’s out of the pretty one’s league?”

Jeno’s heart sinks, and he attempts to pick up the pace. Jaemin, however, isn’t having any of it, and spins on his heel, tapping the guy on the shoulder. He turns, eyes wide, only to quail when he sees the scowl on Jaemin’s face. 

“You’re a bastard,” Jaemin tells him, fuming. “Talking about someone behind their back. And for the record,” he adds, grabbing Jeno by the arm, “ _I’m_ the lucky one, and _he’s_ the one out of my league. So you can fuck right off and mind your own business, thanks.” 

The guy opens his mouth, his face bright red. “I—” 

“Don’t care,” Jaemin says, scoffing. “Get out of here.” 

The guy finally turns to leave, and Jaemin rolls his eyes. “ _J’en ai ras le bol,_ ” he mutters, which, because it’s in French, Jeno misses entirely, but it does not sound pleasant nor nice. “Come on,” Jaemin says, and sits down at the table, head in his hands. He lets out a slow, deep breath, and groans. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jeno says timidly, but Jaemin shakes his head without looking up.

“It was for you as much as it was for me,” Jaemin says, muffled. “Everyone always tells me being half-Veela is a gift, that I’m so lucky, but sometimes it’s exhausting. Especially when I started asking people _why_ they wanted to go out with me, and they said, _oh, because you’re beautiful._ And that’s it. No other reason.” Jaemin sighs, dropping his hands from his face. He’s not crying, but his eyes are shiny, like he’s on the verge. “To them, I’m just a pretty face, and everything they like about me isn’t even _me._ It’s just the stupid magic.” 

Jaemin twists the cap off the Butterbeer and nudges it towards Jaemin. “Try it,” Jeno says, and Jaemin lifts his head. He takes a sip, and his expression clears a little bit. Jeno gets his thoughts in order, carefully formulating what he wants to say. Suddenly the _boys like you_ comment makes sense—Jaemin wasn’t just being cheeky, he was protecting himself. 

Everything Jeno wants to say—everything he _needs_ to say—is mortifying, and perhaps too much, too soon. But he’s got to say _something_. 

“That sounds like their loss,” Jeno says quietly. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Jaemin, and it’s a damn shame that people can’t pull their heads out of their asses and see that.” 

There’s a beat of silence where Jeno wonders if he’s said too much. Jaemin stares at him, eyes nearly gold in the light that slants across his face through the window, illuminating his cheekbones and lips. Jeno struggles to breathe normally, partly because of nerves and partly because Jaemin really _is_ beautiful, like properly _gorgeous._

“I feel like maybe I judged you too quickly,” Jaemin finally answers. “I’m extraordinarily lucky to have met you, Jeno Lee.” 

Jeno’s heart is in his throat, and it’s really a miracle that he’s still capable of getting words out. “Thank you for giving me a second chance,” he manages, choking a bit on the last word. 

Jaemin smiles, and it feels like something new, something tender is stretching between them, fragile yet solid. “Thank you for taking it.” 

* * *

Something between Jeno and Jaemin shifts after that first Hogsmeade visit. It’s nothing too drastic, and unnoticeable to the average onlooker. It’s in the way that Jaemin comes to meet him after Quidditch practices, even as the weather gets colder. It’s in the way that Jeno finds himself subconsciously making room for Jaemin at breakfast, even if he’s late. It’s in the way that Jeno waits outside of the classroom before Defense Against the Dark Arts (much to Donghyuck’s annoyance) so they can walk in together. 

October wears on. Halloween and the first Quidditch match of the season creeps closer, and the Gryffindor team trains harder than ever even as their workload increases. Rainy season starts, and they train through that, too, even when their clothes are soaked through and they have to cast Impervius Charms on their faces so they can see properly. Jeno catches his first cold of the season the week of Halloween, and has to go to Ms. Premis, the school nurse, for a Pepperup Potion. It makes his ears steam so badly Donghyuck bodily forces him back into bed, promising to take notes for him in Herbology. 

Jeno can’t breathe well through his stuffed-up nose, so he’s not sure how easily sleep will come, but his body is so battered and exhausted from three weeks straight of Quidditch that he passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

In his dreams, the first Quidditch match has arrived, only his nose won’t stop running and he can’t wipe it because his hands are glued to his sides. Everyone asks him why he isn’t getting on his broom, and Mia Wilshore starts to cry when Jeno remains rooted in the spot. Sean Bellingham leans in to whisper with Jason Elliot, and Donghyuck gives him a disgusted look. 

“We trusted you,” Dream-Donghyuck tells him, mouth twisting. “And now you’re just gonna let us down? Do you think Jaemin will be impressed by this?” 

_This is a dream,_ Jeno wants to say, but his throat is dry and his tongue doesn’t work. _We still have a week before the first game._

None of his dream-teammates hear him, and they just leave him there, rooted in place and speechless. Jeno’s nose begins to itch horribly, but he’s still trapped in the dream. But the itching won’t stop, and the sky is getting brighter and brighter with each passing second, and Jeno yanks himself out of the dream. As soon as he opens his eyes, he sneezes so violently his whole body jerks, and it feels like his whole cold exits via his nostrils. He knows he’s made a disgusting mess of spit and mucus all over his face and pillow, but his head has miraculously cleared after sneezing. Must’ve been the Pepperup Potion. 

“Oh, you’re up,” Donghyuck says, and Jeno wiggles out of his tangled blankets so he can sit up. Donghyuck has opened the curtains, and the sun has just started its descent down. “You slept through the entire school day.” 

“Bloody hell,” Jeno groans, fumbling for his wand and pointing it at his pillow. “I probably missed so much—” 

“No, mate, that’s not the point,” Donghyuck interrupts, crossing his arms. “The point is, you got sick because you’re overworking yourself _already._ It’s October, Jeno, and you’re not a superhero. You slept for five hours because you _needed_ it.” 

“We have to win, Donghyuck,” Jeno says. Donghyuck doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about, just crosses to sit at the foot of Jeno’s bed. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself if we didn’t. And it’s not just—it’s not just about Jaemin, though that is a part of it.” His head’s still a scrambled mess, making it hard to put his thoughts into words. This is one year, one season, one Cup. In the whole of his life, it’s a very short period of time. But it’s also life-or-death, the most important thing ever, the single goal he’s been working towards since he joined the team. They did it once, when he was twelve, but now he’s seventeen and everything is different, and god, Jeno wants this. The only thing he’s ever wanted in the same capacity is to be with Jaemin. 

Both of these things are a work in progress. Both require attention, time, and dedication. Both have the ability to crush his heart into tiny pieces, albeit in different ways. Equally terrifying to think about, but different. 

“Jeno,” Donghyuck says softly, patting Jeno’s ankle and bringing him out of his head. “I get it.” 

If there’s one person in the whole world who does, Jeno thinks, it’s Donghyuck. 

“Now, you better wipe the snot off your face and head to the library,” Donghyuck says, changing the subject and standing up. “Jaemin and Renjun have notes for you. You’re lucky everyone likes them, or you’d be in big trouble.” 

“ _Jaemin?_ ” Jeno yelps, flying to his feet and stumbling over to the mirror. Despite his cold being lifted, he’s still a disaster—chapped lips, cloudy eyes, and a red nose to boot. “Hyuck, I can’t go out looking like this, he’ll—” 

“No he won’t,” Donghyuck interrupts again. Jeno wishes he’d stop doing that; it’s especially annoying because he’s usually _right_ , too. “I know you’re trying really hard to impress him, but I think it’s time you realized that he _is_ impressed. And if he runs off because you look like a right mess—” 

“Thanks,” Jeno deadpans, sorting around through his dwindling pile of clean clothes for a shirt and a decent pair of pants. 

“Then he’s really not the kind of guy you’d want to date in the first place. But he _is_ the kind of guy you want to date, so he won’t run off. See? It’s all very logical.” Donghyuck throws a balled-up hoodie at Jeno, who catches it. It’s one of Donghyuck’s, and thus a little small around the shoulders, but it’s clean and doesn’t smell like Care of Magical Creatures, so Jeno puts it on. 

“That made no sense and you know it,” Jeno accuses, waving his wand at his gutted school bag so all his textbooks and notebooks fly neatly into it, pens sliding into pockets and crumpled worksheets smoothing themselves out. “You said they were in the library?” 

“You’re so good at Charms,” Donghyuck bemoans as Jeno picks up his bag, heading towards the staircase. “Yes, they’re in the library. I’ll be there in a bit; I’m going to run drills with Lynne because practice is cancelled.” When Jeno opens his mouth to argue, Donghyuck shoots him a murderous look. “As vice-captain, I’m making this call. You are not getting on a broomstick freshly de-bogied, Jeno Lee, just so you can get sick again.” 

Jeno quails under Donghyuck’s ferocious glare and lets it go. He’s right, which unfortunately gives Jeno very little room for debate. Donghyuck shoos him towards the door. “Get out of here, and don’t think about Quidditch again or I’ll come for you, I’m not joking.” 

“Alright, alright,” Jeno says meekly, slinking out of the room. “See you at dinner.” 

* * *

Sure enough, his friends are waiting for him in the library, surrounded by sweets from their last Hogsmeade trip and piles of books and paper. Jisung even has a laptop open, a gift from his parents for his birthday. It confuses the hell out of Chenle and Renjun, who eye it like it’s going to come alive and bite them. Jaemin sees Jeno first, face lighting up as he waves. Jeno nearly trips over his own feet and huddles farther back into his hood, timidly waving back. 

“Jeno!” Chenle shouts, only to shrink back under the glare of the librarian, Mrs. Thorpe. “Hi,” he continues in a stage whisper, pounding Jeno on the back as he takes a seat across from Jaemin and drops his bag. 

“How are you feeling?” Jaemin asks, leaning in. “I would’ve come to see you, but Renjun convinced me I’d help more if I got you notes from the classes you missed.” 

Jeno shoots Renjun a grateful look. He never would’ve been able to face himself ever again if Jaemin had seen him, miserable and shivering under his blankets. He would’ve had to change his name and move to a country far away. “Thank you so much, Jaemin,” Jeno says, coughing into his hood. “You’re a lifesaver. I thought I’d have to talk to Professor Noire, and she’s awful.” 

“Really? I think she’s funny,” Jaemin says, shuffling through his stack of papers and extracting a few sheets to hand to Jeno. “But that might be because she teaches us in French, not in English.” 

“In English, she’s just straight-up _boring_ ,” Chenle grumbles. “I thought Potions was gonna be cool, like _explosions_ and stuff. Not cures for toothaches.” 

“If you think about what kind of potions society needs, though,” Renjun rationalizes, “it makes sense.” 

“Nobody asked you, Renjun,” Jisung snarks. “Professor Noire is boring, and even you can admit that.” 

“I’ll hex you,” Renjun threatens, but Jeno has seen him fall asleep in more than one dull Potions lesson. 

They begin to bicker, and Jeno watches them fondly for a minute as Jaemin sets notes down in front of him, all in neat handwriting. “That’s Charms, Professor Trillwind says she hopes you feel better—and this stack is Transfiguration.” Jeno thumbs through a few pages, and Jaemin winces sympathetically. “Sorry, Professor Kirk was on a rampage today. I don’t know what had him so upset, but he did not stop talking once. Not even to breathe, I don’t think.”

“I’m surprised you were able to keep up,” Jeno notes. “And it’s so neat, too.” He looks up, meeting Jaemin’s eyes. “Thank you.” 

Jaemin smiles at him, and Jeno smiles back. Jeno lets himself get lost in his face, if only for a second—in the color of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the strong line of his nose and jaw. Jaemin’s smile widens, and Jeno can feel the tug of the spell, though he’s aware of it now and can brush it off. Jaemin is beautiful, with or without the Veela enchantment. And one day, Jeno will tell him that. Just not today, because he’s still terrified. 

Internally, he scoffs. Some Gryffindor he is. 

“Ahem,” Renjun says, and the moment snaps. “We’re here too, you know.” Jeno drops his face into his hands, cheeks hot, and Jaemin’s laughter rings out, slightly too loud for the quiet of the library. 

“Volume,” Mrs. Thorpe scolds. “Or I’ll kick you all out.” 

Jaemin’s laughter goes soundless, and Jeno groans, resting his forehead on the table, still a little embarrassed to be caught staring so blatantly, and by everyone. He knows he’s not cool or subtle, and he’s not trying to be, but he feels it’s slightly unfair to have it pointed out _every single time._ Just once, he’d like to be on the other side, laughing _at_ someone instead of having to resign himself to the fact that once again, he’s a little dense and a little slow on the uptake. He’s _trying_ his _best._

There’s a hand on the top of his head, and Jeno looks up to see Jaemin smiling at him, eyes impossibly soft, verging on what Jeno would call fondness, if he were brave enough. Jaemin leans down, propping his chin on a fist so he’s eye-level with Jeno. 

“Hi,” Jaemin says, still smiling. 

“Hi,” Jeno replies, wondering if this is a fever dream. This close, he can see that Jaemin’s eyes have a gold ring around the pupil, and there’s a freckle on his top lip. With his free hand, Jaemin reaches out and tugs on the drawstrings of Jeno’s sweatshirt. Jeno’s known him long enough now to recognize the face he’s making—eyebrows slightly furrowed, gaze hyper-focused. It’s his thinking face, the one he wore in the Three Broomsticks last weekend. 

“What?” Jeno prompts, tapping on the back of Jaemin’s hand, the one that’s under his chin. Jaemin doesn’t answer quite yet, just bites his lip and keeps fiddling with Jeno’s hoodie. 

“Can I come watch you play Quidditch?” Jaemin asks at last. “I mean, like, your match next weekend.” 

Jeno’s not entirely sure that’s what Jaemin originally meant to ask, but he’s not going to try to pry anything out of him, not when they’re still circling each other, trying to find balance. Jeno is not trying to rock the boat this early. Donghyuck calls him dumb all the time, but he’s certainly not an _idiot._

“I’d love that,” Jeno says honestly, feeling a grin spread across his face. Jaemin’s cheeks are a little pink—though that could just be the light, the sun through the stained-glass window behind Mrs. Thorpe’s desk, or the lamp at the end of the table. 

_Now we_ really _have to win,_ Jeno thinks to himself as Jaemin ties the drawstrings into a neat little bow that Donghyuck will tease him for later. But he’ll let Jeno keep the hoodie anyway, smile far too knowing, like he can somehow hear Jeno’s heart, pounding steadily against his ribcage to the sound of Jaemin’s name. 

* * *

Hogwarts goes all-out for the Halloween feast. Massive carved pumpkins rest on pedestals, leering down at students, and the normal bobbing lights have been dimmed so the candles from inside of the jack-o-lanterns glow brightly, eerily, casting strange shadows on the wall. Somewhere, an organ plays, and the ceiling crackles with thunder. The ghosts float about, popping out of tables and scaring people as they eat. Nearly Headless Nick does a gruesome reenactment of his own beheading, frightening some first years so badly they stop eating. The atmosphere is lively, chatter filling the Great Hall and warming Jeno down to his fingertips. 

Jaemin flits between all four tables for the majority of the night, sitting next to Renjun during the beginning but switching to the Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables when the courses change. By dessert, he’s crammed comfortably between Donghyuck and Jeno, spooning pudding into his mouth and humming happily. 

“Hey,” Jaemin says, nudging Jeno, “isn’t your first Quidditch match coming up?” 

Several heads turn in Jaemin’s direction—mostly team members, but a few curious House members as well. “Yeah,” Jeno answers, putting his spoon down, stomach fluttering. “This upcoming weekend.”

“We’ll play Slytherin,” Donghyuck says, and there’s a round of booing. Vivian bangs a fist on the table. “Jisung will give us a lot of shit and we’ll beat his team. I’m not too worried about it.” 

“Maybe a little worried,” Jason Elliot speaks up, “since they won the Cup last year.” 

“We’ve got them this time,” Vivian assures them, nodding enthusiastically. “Both Crowley and Nagubadi left—their offense will be completely new.” 

Jason opens his mouth to rebuke, and just like that, they’ve dispersed into debate about flying positions, statistics, and overall performance. Jeno watches them, fond and nostalgic at the same time. 

“You love them a lot, don’t you?” Jaemin comments, even as Mia Wilshore flicks a pea at Sean Bellinger with bullseye-accuracy. Sean retaliates by dumping his cup of ice down her back. 

Jeno nods, not quite able to put the breadth of his feelings into words. Quidditch had lifted him from countless dark spots, had rescued him from his own mind, time and time again. He has lived it and breathed it for the last five years, and it’s a damn shame he has to leave. 

Jaemin smiles, like he can hear Jeno’s thoughts and understand them. He leans into Jeno, just a bit—enough for Jeno to feel the warmth of his body, unwavering and addictive, but not so much that it’s obvious to everyone around them. Jeno soaks it all in: the glow of the hall, the look of his friends’ faces, even at different tables. Jaemin, steady and solid. Halloween, at Hogwarts, one last time, in all its orange-golden splendor. He wants to burn it into his memory forever, so that when he leaves (as he has to, as he must) he’ll still have this—all this warmth, and the feeling of Jaemin’s leg pressed against his. 

* * *

The next week passes in a blurry haze. Jeno falls into exhausted, dreamless sleep every night, dragging himself through homework and mealtimes. Donghyuck is in a similar state—Quidditch has consumed them both, at least temporarily. They know how important this game is, and the _scale_ of it. Not only is the first game of the season, but it’s against Slytherin, who are sort-of rivals. It also will set the tone of how they play for the rest of the time. They are a well-oiled machine in practice. Now it’s time to see if that will hold up on the pitch. 

Saturday morning dawns bright and early. Jeno is up at seven in the morning, three hours before the match actually starts. He’s keyed-up, nearly vibrating with nervous energy, and he wakes both Donghyuck and Michael with his relentless pacing around their room. Michael threatens to jinx him if he doesn’t shut it; Donghyuck, on the other hand, gets to his feet and beckons Jeno downstairs. 

They pull on sweaters and slide on slippers and collapse into the oversized armchairs in front of the fire, which a house elf must’ve made just minutes ago. Donghyuck is uncharacteristically silent, and Jeno is more than happy to just sit and sort through his own thoughts. He’s excited, mostly, but also a little nervous—terrified, too, of letting the team down, of letting Jaemin down…of letting _himself_ down. His expectations are so high they tower above him, and he knows that if he doesn’t walk onto that pitch and give every single game every single part of him, he’ll never forgive himself. 

An hour later, the rest of the team begins to emerge, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and combing down their bedheads as they pull on socks and sweaters. 

“It’s going to be a nice day,” Donghyuck comments, peering out the window as they get dressed. “Sun’s chased away the rain clouds.” 

Jeno hums in response, stomach already tying itself into knots. He reminds himself to keep breathing. 

Donghyuck gives him a concerned look—he’s familiar with this by now, the hyper-focused anxiety and the way Jeno gets into his own head—but leaves him be. When they’re ready—boots laced, pants zipped—they head down the Great Hall for breakfast. Luckily, it’s just Jeno that seems to be nervous, and he lets Vivian’s jokes and Mia’s gossip gradually pull him out of his mind and back into the real world. 

“Eat up, Captain,” Sean Bellinger says, setting a few pieces of toast down on Jeno’s plate and pushing a mug of tea towards him. “We’re gonna need it!” 

Jeno picks at his food for a few minutes as the hall fills around him. As they pass, people wish him good luck or, if they’re wearing green and silver, scowl at him instead. Jisung swings by to taunt them, dodging out of arm’s reach when Donghyuck threatens to hit him, and then fleeing back to his table when Vivian shoots to her feet, wand out. 

There’s a gentle hand on the top of his head, and Jeno tilts his chin up to see Jaemin smiling down at him. He’s wearing red—a Gryffindor scarf and a massive down jacket. It takes Jeno’s brain a second to reset, fighting through the hazy spell that surrounds Jaemin like a second skin. When his head clears again and he remembers where he is, Jaemin has sat down next to him, chatting with Donghyuck, one of his hands nestled in the crook of Jeno’s elbow. 

Vivian’s smile is mischievous, and Mia looks so thrilled Jeno knows the whole table will know about… whatever that just was by the end of the day. 

“C’mon, Jeno, you’ve got to eat,” Jaemin says, attention shifting back to Jeno. “Don’t want you passing out on your broomstick.” 

“No, guess not,” Jeno replies, and like magic, his appetite returns. Jeno suspects it’s part Veela-magic and part-Jaemin, but either way, he’s glad his stomach doesn’t fight him when he takes a bite of toast and a sip of tea. 

“Unbelievable,” Vivian scoffs, watching him with a disgusted look on her face. “You’re absolutely w—” 

Jeno throws a napkin at her, interrupting whatever she was going to say. Vivian already won’t let him live his crush on Mark Lee down—there’s no telling what chaos will ensue if he lets her starting mouthing off about Jaemin. 

Vivian continues to laugh at him for another few minutes while Jeno shovels food into his mouth and tries to hide his burning face. Eventually, when their bellies are full (or as full as they can get, given the nerves) the Gryffindor team rises as one and prepares to head down to the pitch to get ready.

"Jeno, wait," Jaemin says before Jeno can get too far, stopping him with a hand on his wrist. There's a glimmering, intense look in his eyes, and for a single, heart-stopping second, Jeno thinks Jaemin knows _everything_. "Good luck out there," Jaemin says at last, and Jeno's heart rate slows back down as the moment passes. "I'll be cheering you on."

Jeno summons up as much optimism as he can and smiles back at Jaemin. "We'll do our best."

Jaemin laughs, patting Jeno's shoulder affectionately. "I know you will,” Jaemin says, smiling. “You wouldn't be Jeno Lee if you didn't."

* * *

The roar of the crowd is audible even in the locker room, where the seven of them are doing last-minute checks on gear, lacing up chest padding and adjusting forearm bracers over their scarlet robes. Outside, he can hear the announcer, Lucas Kingsbury, cracking jokes and running through team statistics. He's got enough personality and blustering charisma not just for every fifth year, but for the entire Gryffindor House. Several professors—and a fair number of irate students as well—have called for his removal numerous times, but nobody else has ever volunteered. Jeno doesn't know if that's a coincidence or not. Either way, it's comforting to have Lucas' voice booming in the background, extraordinarily biased towards Gryffindor and not very informative at all, but still a key part of the game.

"Okay, bring it in," Donghyuck calls once everyone's got their robes on, broomsticks in hand. The anxious quiet has spread to the rest of the team by now, which means it's time for Jeno to overcome his own nerves and step up. "Jeno?" Donghyuck asks, and every single set of eyes swivel to fix on Jeno's face. He takes a deep, long breath and centers himself.

“Alright, team,” Jeno starts, “I'll keep it short. You all know how this goes—and you're ready for it. This game sets the tone for the rest of the season. All the teams are watching us, looking for weaknesses. We've got none, and I believe that, but let's _show_ them. Yeah?”

“ _Hell_ yeah,” Vivian chimes in, decisive. “We're a goddamn powerhouse.”

“Right we are,” Donghyuck says. “We're _Gryffindors_. We're all here for a reason.”

“Team on three?” Jason Elliot asks, sticking his hand in.

“Team on three,” Jeno agrees, and they all stack their hands on top of Jason's. “Hyuck, call it.”

“One, two, three,” Donghyuck chants, and the following shout of _GRYFFINDOR!_ is so loud it rings throughout the locker room, sinking into their skin and setting fire to their blood. When they step out onto the Quidditch field, Jeno feels the last of his nerves dissipate, replaced by determination and a sort of laser-focus that sweeps over him, muting the cacophony of the crowd.

The flying teacher, Madam Liete, is ready to go, her broomstick at her side, referee robes billowing in the wind. Jeno squints into the sun, and gives himself a second to take it all in—the last first Quidditch match of his time at Hogwarts.

“Captains, shake hands,” Madam Liete says, and Jeno strides forward to grasp the hand of Slytherin captain Maia Takahashi, a short sixth year with a menacing look on her face. She grips Jeno's hand tightly, and Jeno can tell she's just as determined to win this as he is.

“Brave, bold, daring," she mutters, and Jeno tries not to wince as she crushes his fingers together. “Those aren’t things that’ll win you a Quidditch game, Lee.”

“Let the flying do the talking,” Jeno says, refusing to stoop to her level and engage. Madam Liete is looking at them both suspiciously, and Jeno doesn't want to get ejected, so he drops her hand and retreats back to the starting line. Donghyuck hands him his broomstick: a Moonduster, which he begged his parents to split the cost on when it came out mid-fall his fifth year. It's a good broom—fast, responsive, and seemingly attuned to his thoughts after three years. It hums under his hands as he tightens his grip, eager to get off the ground.

“On my mark,” Madam Liete says. She taps the crate next to her, and the Bludgers release into the air, followed by the Golden Snitch, which flutters around their heads for a half-second before vanishing. Sean Bellingham's eyes narrow.

“Here we go,” Donghyuck mutters next to Jeno, and they both bend their knees, muscles tensing in anticipation. Madam Liete drops her hands, blows her whistle, and tosses the Quaffle up into the air.

As soon as it leaves her hands, both teams go rocketing into the air in a mad grab for first possession. Jeno barely avoids running headlong into Quigley, a Slytherin Chaser. To his left, Lynne sends a Bludger hurtling towards another Beater, who's trying to gang up on Mia, who’s got the Quaffle tucked beneath her arm.

“—and it's Gryffindor with first possession,” Lucas Kingsbury says, "which is good, because the Slytherin Chasers are notoriously good at scoring early—Wilshore to Elliot, good Bludger by Lee, Elliot's going for the hoops—"

Jeno swerves around a Slytherin player, yanking his broom upright to block Quigley from intercepting Jason's shot, which curves neatly through the right hoop, Keeper Eli Boggs missing it by a mile.

“ _Gryffindor scores!_ ” Lucas shouts, and the red sea to Jeno's right erupts into cheers. Jason swoops by and slaps Jeno's outstretched hand, grinning widely. "Ten-zero to Gryffindor, Slytherin in possession."

Slytherin's new offense is shaky, Jeno notices, as one of the new Chasers misses a pass from Quigley. Mia scoops it up easily, and she and Jason pass it back and forth until Jeno finally gets an opening to swoop in and put the Quaffle through the middle hoop.

“Twenty-zero to Gryffindor!” Lucas says, clearly as riled up as the rest of the Gryffindor students. Maia Shore aims an angry Bludger at Jeno on their way back down the field, but Donghyuck swoops in at the last second and sends it rocketing away with a solid swing of his bat.

“Got your back, Captain,” Donghyuck says, tossing Jeno a wink before heading off to deal with the other Slytherin Beater, who’s currently harassing Sean.

The offense continues to suffer, and not even Slytherin's outstanding defense can save them from Jeno, Mia, and Jason, who operate seamlessly. Jeno doesn't even have to check to know that one of them will be there to catch his passes—they've practiced so much together that Jeno knows all of their flying styles, how they throw and where they like to score from. They are a well-oiled machine, and it shows.

“Gryffindor is up fifty-zero against Slytherin, and I have to say, Vivian Rehman is looking bored over there!” Lucas comments, and Jeno glances over his shoulder to see Vivian drifting about lazily in front of the hoops. The Slytherins haven’t gotten close enough to even threaten her. 

The game goes on like this for a little while longer. The Beaters have given up on trying to block Gryffindor from scoring, turning all of their attention to stopping Sean from getting the Snitch. Maia Shore gets closer and closer to fouling him, until Sean is forced to duck under her bat, which whistles over the top of her head. 

“HEY!” Vivian shouts. “That was a fucking _foul!_ ” 

“Ooh, some dirty play by Slytherin Maia Takahashi, who’s never been afraid of smashing people’s heads in to get stuff done—I mean, you gotta admire her commitment, even if it’s violent—and it looks like Madam Liete _isn’t_ going to call that a foul.” There’s a loud chorus of booing from the Gryffindor side while the Slytherin section cheers, trying to drown them out.

Jeno slams a hand against the handle of his broomstick, frustrated. A hit like that could’ve crippled Sean—anything to the head was the worst sort of injury, the kind that lead to fatalities. But there’s no foul call, which means the game has to resume. 

“Wait, Bellingham’s off—reckon he’s seen the Snitch!” Lucas says excitedly. Sure enough, Sean’s speeding across the field, dead-focused on a tiny glimmer of gold. The Slytherin Seeker flips around and is on his tail within seconds, and the Slytherin Beaters turn on Sean too, preparing to dive. 

Luckily, Donghyuck is there, whacking a Bludger towards one of the Beaters while diving at the other, forcing them to both swerve and scatter. The Bludger hits home, nearly knocking Marcus Praud from his broom, and even Shore doesn’t want to be hit head-on by Donghyuck. There’s a reason he’s being scouted already, a reason people go nuts over him, a reason he’s on the team as vice-captain—and it’s right there, in that play he just made, the play that wins them the game. 

Sean whizzes past both of them, and his hand closes over the Snitch. The game ends, two hundred to zero, the Snitch scoring them an extra one hundred and fifty points. 

The noise the Gryffindor side makes is so loud it will leave Jeno’s ears ringing all the way until he falls asleep, but for now, he soaks it in, landing on shaky legs and letting his team pull him into their group hug, ecstatic and buzzing with energy. Their House floods the field a few minutes later, and Jeno is being pulled into more hugs, hands raining down on his back. Donghyuck is engulfed by people, screaming themselves hoarse and shaking him in disbelief. That particular moment, Jeno thinks, will go down in history. It’s not everyday that the Beater themself becomes a Bludger. 

Jeno meets up with his friends on the way back up to the Gryffindor common room for the victory party. Everyone save for Jisung is wearing red, which throws Jeno off a little—Chenle and Renjun are in red sweaters and scarves, faces flushed. Jisung quickly sheds any green he’s wearing so he can get into the common room, carried by the sea of bodies. 

“Jeno!” Chenle cheers, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, jumping up and down. “Oh my god! Oh my god! That was amazing!” 

“It was all Donghyuck!” Jeno replies, reaching over and shoving Donghyuck playfully. Donghyuck grins, and Chenle slings an arm around him, too. All around them, people are shoving back furniture and bringing out crates of Butterbeer and food. Someone puts on some music, and Jeno and Donghyuck spend the next half hour or so fielding questions and accepting compliments. 

“You really think you can win?” A wide-eyed third year asks him, her friends huddling close so they can hear better. “I heard Hufflepuff was really good this year, also.” 

“Hufflepuff _is_ good,” Jeno admits, “but if we keep playing like we just did, I think we’ll be better.” 

“That’s amazing,” the girl breathes. “Oh, I can’t wait, it’s so fun to watch! I’ll see you around, Jeno.” 

“Yeah,” Jeno says, lifting a hand. She gives him a shy, slightly awed smile and a tiny wave before gathering her friends and vanishing back into the crowd. 

“Someone’s got an admirer.” Jeno smells lavender as Jaemin comes up next to Jeno, linking their arms. “As you should, though. You played _incredibly_.” There’s a shine to Jaemin’s eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirks. It makes Jeno a little nervous, but in a good way. More excited than worried. 

“Don’t be worried about her,” Jeno assures Jaemin, who just laughs and steps closer. “I’m into someone else.” 

“He must be pretty lucky,” Jaemin muses, and Jeno can hear the laughter in his voice. They’re walking a fine line between safe and scary, Jeno thinks, teetering dangerously close to whatever is beyond flirty-friendly. 

“I don’t know,” Jeno says, turning to look at Jaemin, “I think _I’m_ the lucky one.” 

The air between them heats, and Jeno once again has the feeling that Jaemin can tell _exactly_ what he’s thinking. His eyes are dark, silvery hair falling messily over his forehead. Jeno has half a mind to reach out and brush it away. 

“You’re something else, Jeno Lee,” Jaemin says, breaking the heaviness of the moment and returning Jeno back to his body. Jaemin beams at him, and Jeno feels a rush of affection so powerful his fingertips tingle. He smiles back helplessly, and Jaemin settles back against him, cheek pressed against Jeno’s shoulder. For a moment, they’re quiet, watching the party around them. Sean has cake on his face and Mia, much to Jeno’s amusement, is flirting shamelessly with Chenle. 

Everyone is celebrating—but there’s a specific sort of joy on the faces of the Gryffindor team that Jeno wants to see a hundred more times. 

Jeno can feels Jaemin’s eyes on him, curious. Jeno nods towards his teammates. “We’ve got to win this thing, Jaemin,” he says quietly, and Jaemin’s hands tighten on Jeno’s arm. 

“Okay,” Jaemin replies. “How are you going to do it?” 

* * *

A few things need to happen if Gryffindor wants to win the Quidditch Cup. Firstly, they need to maintain a win-loss-tie record better than at least two of the other Houses, which will put them into the playoff game. Secondly, they need to beat Ravenclaw, which is a feat in itself. Ravenclaw’s offense is brilliant, and there’s something about Ravenclaw’s coolheaded planning that just dissolves Gryffindor’s competition-driven courage. 

November is well under way when the second Quidditch match finally rolls around, and Chenle forces Jeno and Jaemin into yellow to support Hufflepuff while Renjun decks Jisung and Donghyuck in Ravenclaw’s silver-and-blue. 

The game is short, thankfully, because it starts sleeting halfway in, freezing them all to the bone. Hufflepuff absolutely slaughters Ravenclaw, scoring seven goals in thirty minutes and catching the Snitch two minutes later. The game ends 220-20. Lucas Kingbury goes nuts over Hufflepuff’s Seeker, who catches the Snitch one-handed, making it look easy, but her shiny new Nimbus Elite probably has a fair amount to do with it. 

“Yeah, she’s going to be a problem,” Jeno tells Donghyuck later over dinner, worried. There’s a small knot of people huddled around her even now, and Donghyuck makes a face at her, nose wrinkling. 

“Who does she think she is? Some kind of celebrity?” 

“She sort of is,” Sean points out moodily, stabbing a potato with his fork and glaring at it. “I’ve never caught the Snitch _one-handed._ ” 

“Oh, come off it,” Vivian scoffs, chuffing Sean on the back of the head. “You’re a bloody brilliant Seeker, Sean, and you don’t need a stupid fanclub or a nine-hundred galleon broomstick.” 

Sean looks slightly mollified. “I guess you’re right. We’re going to beat Hufflepuff anyway. When do we play them?” He turns to Jeno and Donghyuck at the last part, who exchange thoughtful looks. 

“Er, March?” Donghyuck says. “Ravenclaw versus Slytherin is next, after the winter holiday, and then us again.” 

“Decent,” Sean says, nodding. He goes back to shoveling potatoes into his mouth. Jeno leans closer to Donghyuck again.

“But in all seriousness, Hyuck,” Jeno says, voice low so the others can’t hear him. “I’m dead worried about Hufflepuff. They could throw everything off. Including us.” 

Donghyuck chews on his lip, eyeing the Hufflepuff table. “I really hate to admit it, but you’re right,” he murmurs, sounding conflicted. “Damn. I was really hoping the rumors were wrong. Chasers are only as good as the Seeker, and, well—” 

“Their Seeker is excellent,” Jeno finishes grimly. Something inside of him tightens, and he sets his shoulders as determination washes over him anew. “Well, we’ll just have to make it up by training for it. I’ll think through some drills and let you know, yeah?” 

Donghyuck hums in agreement, eyes still trained on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. “We’ve come this far, Jeno,” Donghyuck says. “We can’t lose now.” 

Jeno doesn’t need to say anything in response. He’s sure Donghyuck can feel it—his determination, the smoldering embers in the center of his chest, thrumming to the two-step march of his heart. 

* * *

As November wears on, the Gryffindor team doubles its efforts in the weeks leading up to winter break, rain turning to snow by the end of the month. Classes are brutal, professors flying through subjects at a near-impossible rate, and Jeno feels himself wearing down. 

He doesn’t want to admit it, at first, but when Renjun and Chenle stage an intervention, he gives in and cuts practice an hour short. He can see the relief and the guilt on his teammates’ faces. They all need a break, Jeno thinks, even though they think they don’t deserve one. 

“You guys have all been working really hard,” he says when they’ve made it out of the cold and into the locker room, shivering as they pull off their half-frozen robes. “You deserve this break. Don’t feel bad about taking it, okay?” 

There’s a mumbling of assent. Jeno sends Donghyuck a pleading look. 

“Listen,” Donghyuck says loudly, “if we don’t take this break, we’re all going to get hurt and then we _really_ won’t be able to play. The most important part of working hard is knowing your limits.” He makes eye contact with everyone, making sure they’ve understood him. “Got it?” 

This time, the response is a little more enthusiastic, and Jeno watches as the tension melt from shoulders. 

“Good call,” Donghyuck says quietly to Jeno on his way out. “Everyone needed this.” 

Jeno sighs, so exhausted he can feel it in his bones. “I know. It’s just—” 

“We want to win as much as you do,” Donghyuck assures Jeno. “But you’ve got to give yourself a break. Or Renjun and Chenle will actually kill you, I reckon.” 

“Captain!” Vivian sings, poking her head back into the locker room, “your _boyfriend_ is here!” 

Everyone stops what they’re doing to snicker at Jeno, catcalling as him as he gets to his feet, face hot. 

Sure enough, Jaemin is waiting for him outside of the locker room, as he’s been doing for the last month or so. When he sees Jeno, his face breaks into a smile so dazzling Jeno staggers a little. Behind him, he hears Mia Wilshore gasp, probably reacting similarly. 

Jaemin ignores her, solely focused on Jeno. He’s saying something, Jeno’s sure, but Jeno is so focused on the shape of his mouth that he doesn’t really process anything Jaemin is saying until he’s gently grabbed by the arm and tugged away from the locker room. 

“What?” Jeno asks blankly, looking over at Jaemin. God, he’s beautiful. He’s gorgeous. He’s laughing now, and Jeno would very much like to bottle that sound and keep it with him forever. 

“I said, Chenle sent me to make sure you didn’t just turn around and go straight back to practice,” Jaemin says, still laughing. “Are you okay? You look exhausted.” 

“I’m alright,” Jeno insists. “I did it for the team, mostly.” 

Jaemin looks at him for a long moment, and Jeno gets the uncanny feeling that Jaemin can tell exactly what he’s thinking. They stand in the entryway of the castle for a few moments before Jaemin seems to make up his mind about something and tugs Jeno in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Come with me,” he says, and all Jeno can do is follow him. “Chenle showed me this.” 

“The kitchen?” Jeno asks, confused, because Chenle’s shown him the kitchen, too. Normally the house elves are there, eager to bring food and chat about life in the castle, but this late, it’s empty and quiet. 

“Not just the kitchen,” Jaemin says, gesturing to the massive space, “but the right time to go. The house elves are nice and all, but—” 

“But?” 

“But sometimes it’s nice to have _la paix, le calme, et la tranquillité, fin._ ” Jaemin smiles a little at Jeno’s befuddled expression. “It’s what one of my professors would say once all the students left his classroom. He wasn’t very nice.” 

“What’s it mean?” 

“Oh, come on,” Jaemin teases, nudging Jeno. “You can’t tell? The words are the same as the English ones.” 

“Right, only you say it in a super fancy way,” Jeno points out. “So I had a hard time understanding.” 

“Peace, calm, and tranquility, at last,” Jaemin recites. He pulls out his wand, waving it at the ceiling so the overhead lights flicker on, their magical flames casting the kitchen in a warm glow. “That’s the castle at night.” 

“What are we doing, then?” Jeno asks, stepping further into the kitchen and huddling into his sweater. Without the massive fires, it’s slightly cold. “You going to whip up a dozen mini quiches?” 

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “Mini quiches? Jeno, it’s nearly nine.” 

“Right, but aren’t quiches French?” Jeno asks, feeling very silly and mildly embarrassed when Jaemin claps a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing. 

“I suppose,” Jaemin agrees, snorting behind his hand. “If we’re talking about stereotypes, then, should I ask if you want a cup of tea?” 

Jeno laughs, but he really _does_ want a cup of tea. Or hot chocolate. Or maybe just fourteen hours of sleep and no more homework for the rest of his life. 

“I would actually really like a cup of tea,” Jeno admits, and Jaemin’s face goes soft. He reaches up and pats Jeno’s cheek, so quickly that Jeno thinks he’s imagined it for a second, before he bustles off to heat some water. 

It’s a split-second that Jeno thinks about for the rest of the night, in the few moments he steals before he collapses into sleep. 

* * *

The weather grows colder still, and Jeno finds himself up until the wee hours of the morning most nights, trudging back from the library at one o’clock or falling asleep next to the dying fire in the Gryffindor common room, only to jerk awake a few hours later and collapse into bed in his clothes. He’s aware that it's not healthy—it shows, too, as the majority of the fifth, six, and seventh years come down with nasty head colds and Miss Premis has to make another batch of Pepperup Potion. Every morning Jeno wakes, stiff-legged and achy, and drags himself down to breakfast where his non-Quidditch friends attempt to get food into him. He starts falling asleep in class, too, something that is increasingly embarrassing as he gets caught more and more frequently. At the end of class one day, Professor Zhao holds him back to ask him if he’s taking proper care of himself. 

“I’m alright, Professor, really,” Jeno insists as Professor Zhao looks him up and down with a keen eye. “Just a bit tired, is all.” 

“If you’re certain,” Professor Zhao says, crossing her arms. “I will not hesitate to write your parents, Mr. Lee, if I feel like you’re putting your health at risk.” 

_That means no Quidditch,_ she doesn’t say, but Jeno hears it anyway. He’s not sure if he should feel threatened or thankful. Maybe a little bit of both. 

“It would be nice for Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup,” Zhao continues as Jeno packs up his bag. “But I don’t want that victory at your expense, Mr. Lee. So take care of yourself.” 

Jeno nods, hoping his face doesn’t give away his dishonesty. He knows Professor Zhao is right, and he _hates_ having to lie to her, but he’s _so close._ If he can hold out for a few more weeks, then winter break will be here and he can rest in the comfort of his own home and eat his mom’s waffles and unwrap presents with his older brother and sister, whom he rarely sees but misses terribly. If he can just hold on for a _little_ longer… _then_ he’ll rest. 

‘You’re burning yourself out, mate,” Renjun says at dinner that night, when Donghyuck fails to show up and Jeno just about falls asleep in his mashed potatoes. “Donghyuck is sleeping through dinner _again,_ and you’re dead on your feet.” 

“Why’re you even sitting here?” Jeno mumbles, shoveling bread into his mouth with his eyes closed. “‘S dinner time. You’re supposed to be at Ravenclaw.” 

“I’m here because you’re falling asleep in your potatoes,” Renjun deadpans. He goes on about school or something, and Jeno starts spacing out again, too tired to really do anything but prop his chin in his hand let the noise of the Great Hall fade in and out around him. 

There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, and without even opening his eyes, Jeno knows it’s Jaemin. He leans back, and is met with the solid warmth of Jaemin’s body, which lures him even closer to sleep. Jaemin cards a hand through Jeno’s hair, and Renjun makes a comment about them that Jeno ignores. Then there are hands under his arms, and he’s being hauled to his feet. 

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Jaemin says quietly, arm snug around Jeno’s shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

“Got homework,” Jeno groans, thinking about the essay he’s got to complete for Care of Magical Creatures and the spell practice for Defense Against the Dark Arts. “I swear I’ll go to bed once it’s finished, Jaem, I promise—” 

“No,” Jaemin says firmly. Then, softer, “You called me Jaem.” 

Jeno’s eyes snap all the way open, and he makes an attempt to pull away. Panic rushes through him as he quickly scans Jaemin’s face, looking for any sign that he might’ve offended him in some way. But Jaemin tightens his arm around Jeno and smiles, small but genuine. 

“I liked it,” he says. “Nobody’s called me that since I moved to France. And even then, I don’t get a lot of nicknames, because I’m half-Veela. Everyone thinks they’re going to offend me.” He gives Jeno a pointed look at this last bit, and Jeno quails into Jaemin’s side, tearing his gaze away. But Jaemin just laughs, the sound rumbling through Jeno’s chest, and continues guiding them towards Gryffindor Tower. They talk about their day—or, _Jaemin_ talks about his day, and Jeno lets himself be guided up the stairs with his eyes mostly closed. He gives Jaemin the portrait password (winterberry), and they both ignore the excited whispers and the curious murmurs that rise up from the people in the common room as they pass. 

“Oh my god, he’s fit,” a girl breathes, and her friends giggle. “Wait a minute—is that Jeno Lee?” 

“They’re talking about us,” Jeno mutters. 

“Does it bother you?” Jaemin asks carefully, and Jeno’s awake enough to know it's some kind of test.

“I don’t like being in the spotlight,” Jeno admits, and it’s more truth that he’s used to giving, but he’s tired and it’s _Jaemin,_ who’s already got nearly every part of him anyway, so where’s the harm? “But I do like being with you, and you’re—well, everyone talks about you. So I’ll bear it.” 

“Aw,” Jaemin says, sounding pleasantly surprised. A flicker of warmth spreads through Jeno’s chest at his tone, and he feels immensely pleased as he and Jaemin make their way up the stairs to the seventh year dorm.

Donghyuck, sure enough, is passed out face-first in his bed, drooling all over his history textbook. Jaemin is kind enough to pull the blankets over him while Jeno kicks off his shoes and pulls on his pajamas. He crawls under the covers, eyes closing immediately. Sleep threatens to wash over him, but he fights to stay conscious long enough to say goodnight to Jaemin. 

“Night, Jeno,” Jaemin says quietly, and there’s a small _snap_ as the lights in the room go out. “I’ll see you in the morning after practice.” 

“Night, Jaem,” Jeno replies, and can feel Jaemin’s smile at the nickname. He’s already starting to lose the fight against his exhaustion—his bed is warm and comfortable, the lights are out, and Donghyuck’s slow, even breathing isn’t helping. 

Something brushes his forehead, and Jeno smells lavender. Or that might’ve been his all in his head, halfway asleep already. He swears Jaemin says something more, but it’s too late—he’s fast asleep. 

He tries to ask Jaemin about it later, on his way out to Quidditch practice, but Jaemin just frowns at him, confused, and Jeno gives up on trying to get it out of him. Either he really doesn’t know (unlikely, because Jaemin seems to know _everything_ , much to most everyone’s annoyance) or he’s just not going to say (more likely, because Jaemin is sneaky). 

The frozen grass crunches beneath Jeno’s feet as he heads out towards the Quidditch pitch with his team. Saturday mornings are a prime time to practice, and thus, they’re sharing the pitch with Ravenclaw today. The sun is out, at the very least, but the wind is biting cold. They’re all shivering by the time they get to the locker room. 

“Since we’ve only got half the pitch,” Jeno says as they pull on sweaters, gloves, and hats, “we’re not going to use any Bludgers.” 

Lynne frowns. Jeno knows it’s because the regular balls they use often pop under the force of her swing, which means she spends more time casting Repairing Charms than actually practicing. “But, this gives us an opportunity to practice hoop-oriented offense,” he continues. “Which will be important because Hufflepuff has a really good Keeper.” 

“Yeah, Joselyn Barns,” Vivian says, eyes narrowing. “She’s a piece of work.” 

“So’s their Seeker,” Sean chimes in. “And their Chasers, and their Beaters—” 

“Right, we get it, their whole team is brilliant,” Donghyuck interrupts. “We all saw them play. They’re going to be tough competition.” 

“Which is why this last practice is so important,” Jeno stresses. “Hufflepuff is going to be the hardest to beat this year, but I have faith in all of us. In all of _you._ So let’s have one last good practice before break, yeah?” 

“Aw, Captain,” Mia says, and Jeno feels his cheeks heat. 

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” he says, ushering his team out of the locker room. “Warm up. I’ll meet you all in a second.” 

Everyone makes sure to heckle him on their way out, good-natured. Jeno is glad to see that they don’t look as exhausted as he does. He catches his reflection in the mirror, dull-eyed and worn-out. 

“Come on, Jeno,” he tells himself firmly, slapping his cheeks a few times to wake himself up. “You’re alright. It’s the weekend. Perk up.” 

It doesn’t do much, if he’s going to be completely honest, and he’s hoping that getting on his broom will shake some of the fatigue off of him. The sun nearly blinds him as he emerges from the locker room, broom tucked under his arm. He blinks, ears ringing a little, and attempts to situate himself on the ground. 

“Jeno, mate, we’re on the other side,” Donghyuck says, clapping him on the shoulder and pointing to the far end of the pitch. 

“Right,” Jeno says, blinking some more. He rubs his face, and Donghyuck’s hand lingers on his back. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Donghyuck asks, leaning in and squinting at Jeno. “You look dead on your feet.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Jeno mutters. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a good night’s rest—but for good reason, since he’s got classes to stay in front of and Quidditch practice and Jaemin, of course, who makes him want to drop it all. “I’m alright, Hyuck. Just get me on my broomstick and I’ll be all set.” 

“If you say so,” Donghyuck says doubtfully, eyes not leaving Jeno even as he mounts his broomstick and kicks hard off the ground, the air whipping his face and stinging his eyes. 

They do some passing drills, and then start running offensive plays. There’s some hiccups here and there, nothing that they shouldn’t be able to fix—he’s not too worried—

His eyes start to slip closed without him noticing. Someone fumbles with something, Jeno thinks, and there’s a shout that sounds vaguely like Donghyuck— 

Jeno jerks awake at the last second as the Quaffle comes hurtling towards his face. His hands come up, but he’s so exhausted— _too_ exhausted—and there is nothing he can do but let the Quaffle smash into his nose with a horrifying crunch. 

And then, to make matters worse, he topples backwards off of his broom. His ears pop as he falls, grasping at empty air, panic swallowing him. _This is it,_ he thinks fleetingly, watching his friends hurtle towards him, their arms outstretched, but they’re not fast enough. 

Jeno slams into the ground so hard he feels like he’s being turned inside out, and tumbles into unconsciousness to the sound of his own bones breaking. 


	2. winter

There are moments of lucidity, of course, but every time he tries to open his eyes or say something, it feels like every inch of his body is melting. Then there’s a cool, familiar-smelling hand on his cheek and the rusle of fabric, of lowered voices, and he sinks blissfully back into sleep. 

He doesn’t know how much time actually passes in between each bout, but it takes a long time before he can muster up the strength to wake up.

When he does, it’s to unfamiliar surroundings. It’s a hospital ward, obviously, but Jeno’s been to the one at school many times, and this isn’t it. Instead of the usual stone walls, curtained-off beds and heavy draperies, this room is smaller, brighter. The walls are cream-colored, and Jeno seems to be the only one here. It’s noisier, too—he can hear people bustling about through the door, and distantly, he can hear cars and the chatter of crowds below. 

Next comes the pain. It’s everywhere, constant and throbbing. His right leg is entirely immobile, suspended by a dangerous-looking contraption. His left arm is splinted, too, and to his despair, he’s been stuffed into a ridiculous neck brace, which prevents him from doing anything but blinking at the ceiling in frustration. 

Before Jeno can try to magic the casts off of him, the door opens, and voices fill his room. First comes a man he doesn’t recognize, wearing a white uniform, then, bizarrely, his _mother_ and _Jaemin._

“Jeno!” His mother says as soon as she sees him, tears filling her eyes. She immediately swoops down on him, pressing her hands to his face and fluttering nervously over his broken limbs. “Oh, love, is it good to see your eyes.” She sniffs, pressing a hand to her mouth. “We were so worried about you.” 

Jeno tries for a reassuring smile, but it hurts too much. He takes a shallow breath, ribs smarting. “Hi, Mom.” 

“Hi, love,” she replies, relief melting the panic on her face. “Oh, god, I’m so relieved.” 

“Where—where am I?” He asks, now that she looks like she’s not going to cry anymore. “What time is it? What happened?” 

The uniformed man takes a step forward, clearing his throat. “You’re at St. Mungo’s,” he says. “You had quite a fall, Mr. Lee. It took us a while to put you back together.” 

Jeno briefly remembers the incident. “I thought I’d died.” 

“No, but it was close,” Jaemin mutters, crossing his arms. He frowns at Jeno, who flinches back under the heat of his glare. “You _promised,_ Jeno. Do you know how worried we’ve been—how worried _I’ve_ —” He cuts himself off before he can go any further, face bright red, and storms out of the room without another word. 

“ _Well_ ,” Jeno’s mom says, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’ll have to sort _that_ out, love.” 

Jeno groans. “Can we move on?” He doesn’t want to think about Jaemin being _here,_ in the hospital, like he was waiting for Jeno to wake up. Like he was genuinely _worried._

“Right,” the Healer says. “You’ve been unconscious for seventy-six hours while we put the healing spells on you—as you can see, however, the body can only take so much, and some things just need to heal on their own.” He nods at Jeno’s arm and leg. “Fractured wrist, broken leg, broken nose,” he lists. “You’ve also got some bruised ribs, a fading concussion, and perhaps some lingering spinal discomfort. You are very lucky indeed, Mr. Lee. Two feet higher and that fall would’ve been fatal.” 

“I was out for _three days?_ ” Jeno says, ignoring the list of injuries—whatever, they’ll heal, he’ll figure it out later—and bypassing straight to the amount of _time_ he’d lost. “What day is it? Are we on holiday? When did I get to London?” 

“Shh, love,” his mother says, pressing a hand to his forehead, quieting him. “Don’t fret. It’s the twenty-third, a Wednesday. They brought you here after making sure you were stable enough.” 

“Is Dad here, then? And the twins?” 

“Yes, all here,” his mother says. “Kyungri got in this morning, but Junwoo has been here as long as you have.” 

“I want to see them,” Jeno says instantly, heart jumping, and his mother laughs. 

“Of course,” she says. “But I think your friends—and Jaemin—are eager to see you first.” 

“They’re all here too?” Jeno startles, jerking violently enough that pain shivers across his chest. “What—how?” 

There’s a clamoring at the door, and his friends come piling in. Renjun, Chenle, Donghyuck and Jisung lead the pack, but there are team members as well—Mia Wilshore, her eyes red and swollen, Sean and Jason with their pale, worried faces, and Vivian, who smiles broadly when she sees that Jeno’s awake. Lynne’s holding a massive bouquet of flowers and looking rather disgruntled about it.

They bombard him in an instant, piling snacks on his dresser and dumping Christmas gifts on the floor, chattering and filling the room with noise. Mia launches into a complicated, teary-eyed apology—she’s the one that threw the Quaffle that knocked him off, and Jeno awkwardly pats her on the arm as she sobs into her hands. 

“Mia, we told you, it’s not your fault,” Lynne says firmly. “Jeno’s an idiot. He shouldn’t have been flying in his state.” 

“Yeah, _idiot,_ ” Donghyuck echoes, glaring at Jeno. “You’re lucky you’re not dead. You’re lucky you can even play again.” He casts a tentative look up at the Healer, who nods. 

“With plenty of rest, you should be good to go by your next match,” he says. “I hear you’re the captain?” 

“Yes, sir,” Jeno says, and his team beams at him. Pride glows warm in his chest. “I am.” 

His friends stick around a little longer before they start to trickle out, one by one, wishing him a happy Christmas. 

Eventually, it’s just Donghyuck, Renjun, Chenle and Jisung. Jeno’s mother, sensing that there’s something Jeno wants to talk about, presses a quiet kiss to his head and tells him she’ll be back in a bit with his siblings. 

Jaemin is still nowhere in sight. 

“Is Jaemin mad at me?” Jeno asks, and everyone immediately bursts into laughter. 

“Hey, cut it out,” Chenle argues, elbowing Jisung in the ribs. “It’s cute how totally stupid he is.” 

Jeno frowns. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be offended, or…?” None of his friends answer, and continue to laugh at him. “Oi, I’m serious. Is he pissed off?” 

“Nah, he was just worried,” Renjun says, taking pity on Jeno. “You should talk to him.” 

“Ooh, great idea,” Donghyuck says cheerfully, getting up from his seat and making his way to the door. “I saw him sulking in the hallway. I’ll go grab him.” 

Jeno’s heart rate spikes at the thought, hands beginning to sweat. “Wait, Hyuck—” 

“No, you really should talk to him,” Chenle interrupts, thoughtful. “I mean, we were pretty worried—” 

“I wasn’t,” Jisung chimes in. Chenle elbows him again. 

“Anyways—” Chenle starts, but Donghyuck is back again, gripping Jaemin’s arm so tightly his knuckles are white. Jaemin is digging his heels in, looking panicked. Jeno’s sure he looks the same. 

“Here’s Jaemin,” Donghyuck says brightly, shoving Jaemin hard enough that he stumbles into the room. “Come on, guys, let’s give them some space, eh?” 

“No, it’s really okay—” Jeno starts frantically, but his friends just give him a round of shit-eating grins before they file out of the room, leaving Jeno and Jaemin to stare at each other. 

Jeno caves first. “I’m sorry.” 

Jaemin huffs, crossing his arms. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is.” 

“You’re right,” Jaemin agrees. “It is.” He comes to sit on the end of Jeno’s bed, eyeing his splinted leg. 

“You’re not…mad at me, right?” Jeno asks cautiously, and Jaemin frowns. 

“No, of course not,” Jaemin says, and there’s a beat of silence as he puts some pieces together, sparing Jeno from the mortification of having to talk about his feelings with a neck brace on. “ _No,_ Jeno, I wasn’t mad. I know…I’m sorry I overreacted. I was worried.” The back of Jaemin’s neck turns a little pink, and he looks down at his hands. “I saw you on your way to St. Mungo’s, and I c—” He cuts himself off here, blush spreading to his ears. “Well, you know.” 

Jeno’s mouth has gone dry, and he wipes his sweaty hands on his shirt. “Yeah, right,” he says. _I care about you,_ Jaemin had almost said. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in France?” Jeno asks at last, and Jaemin looks relieved at the subject change. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, but,” Jaemin starts, fidgeting, “My parents…we’re not big on holidays and such, and with you in the hospital, I really wanted to—” He breaks off again, sneaking a look at Jeno. “Well, I wanted to stay. With you. If that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, er, I mean,” Jeno stammers. “I’m glad. That you’re staying. I’d like that.” 

Jaemin’s face relaxes, and he gives Jeno a dazzling smile. “Really?” 

Jeno tries to nod, forgetting he’s got a neck brace on until pain shivers down his spine. “Ouch.” 

“Don’t overdo it,” Jaemin says immediately, hands flitting over Jeno, brushing his forehead, his chin, his chest. “I’m not going to stay if you’re not going to behave.” 

“No, stay,” Jeno replies immediately, reaching out and grabbing Jaemin’s wrist with his uninjured arm. 

“I think your family is coming up,” Jaemin says unsurely, tilting his head. “I can hear your sister. Don’t you want some time with them?” 

_I want time with you,_ Jeno thinks forlornly as Jaemin stands, straightening his clothes. He’s wearing a slightly-oversized red sweater that Jeno vaguely recognizes as _his._ “Hey, is that mine?” He asks, pointing, and Jaemin looks down at it. 

“Oh, yeah, your mom gave it to me to borrow,” Jaemin says, picking at a fraying thread. “Do you want—” 

“No, keep it,” Jeno interrupts, and before he can lose his courage, adds, “it looks better on you.” 

Jaemin looks so taken aback by the compliment that Jeno feels a little thrill of satisfaction. Jaemin opens his mouth to reply, closes it, goes wonderfully pink in the face, and makes a break for the door. 

“You’re cute,” Jeno calls after him, feeling recklessly brave. “You’re running because it’s true.” 

“Shut it!” Jaemin shouts. Jeno laughs as he mutters something in French under his breath, disappearing around the corner. He can hear his sister’s voice, and his brother, chiming in, before all of his family is in his room, and then Kyungri is on his _bed,_ nearly hysterical as she yanks him upright and hugs him so hard sparks dance across his vision. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Jeno mutters, bones groaning. “Rie, you’re killing me—” 

“Oh, sorry,” she gasps, pulling back and holding him by the shoulders. “It’s just good to see you alive. Leave the near-death experiences to _me,_ Jeno, and save everyone a heart attack.” She grins at him, the scar down the side of her face wrinkling even as her eyes swim with tears. 

“Oi, let me hug him,” Junwoo says, elbowing Rie aside. Both of their faces crease into identical frowns before Rie sighs and lets Junwoo give Jeno a much gentler hug. Rie sniffles, and a second later, Jeno feels her arms around them both, squeezing tightly. Jeno leans into them both, feeling eight years old again. 

“Good to have you back,” Junwoo says. “Rie was going mental. Dad too.” 

“Was not,” Jeno’s dad grumbles, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that eases when Jeno smiles and offers a thumbs up. “Still, I’m glad you’re alright. Better be, given the bills from this damn place.”

“Come on, now,” Jeno’s mother chides, but Jeno’s dad just harrumphs and crosses his arms. 

“You’re staying for Christmas, right?” Jeno asks his siblings. “Because I assume they won’t let me go home?” 

“No, love, we’ll have to stay here,” Jeno’s mom confirms. “That’s alright, though. We’ll just open presents in your room.” 

“I’m not due back in Norway until after Boxing Day,” his sister says. “We’re not going after the trolls until the snow clears out.” 

“It’s trolls this time?” Jeno asks, blinking at Rie. “I thought it was dragons.” 

Rie waves him off. “Nope. Dragons was November, and that was in Wales. I’m helping out a crew in Scandinavia for a bit. They’re a good-looking lot, I’ll admit.” 

Junwoo snorts. “ _Yeah,_ Jeno, dragons were _November._ She’s in the Department for Creature Control, you know. _Very_ important.” 

“I’d hex you, Jun, but—” 

“You’d be kicked out, that’s what,” their mother steps in, frowning, “and I’ll not have that on Christmas Eve. So _behave,_ you two, or there’ll be no pudding.” 

Jeno’s father looks up from the Healer’s notes he was paging through. “What’s that? No pudding?” 

“Only if the twins keep fighting, Dad,” Jeno fills him in. He nods, reassured, and goes back to snooping. Junwoo and Rie look appropriately chastised (something that will be eternally amusing to Jeno, especially now that his siblings are nearing twenty-one) and settle down, turning away from themselves and deciding it’s time to batter Jeno with questions instead. 

“D’you think you’ll beat Hufflepuff?” _Yes._

“When did Donghyuck get so cute?” _Please don’t say that, Rie, he’s my best friend, that’s weird._

“Are you still friends with that Slytherin?” _Yeah, and he’s still a brat._

“Is Professor Saros still teaching Astronomy?” _Unfortunately._

“Do you fancy that boy?” 

Kyungri grinds to a halt at Junwoo’s question, stopping to look between the two of them with wide eyes. 

“A boy?” Their mother asks, looking very interested. “ _That_ boy? The pretty one?” 

“The _half-Veela?_ ” His sister says, near-reverent. 

“Who now?” Their father finishes, looking up again. “What’s happening?” 

“Absolutely not,” Jeno says resolutely, scooting back on his bed, away from the twins and their matching devious smirks. “I’m not saying anything. Get away.” 

“Aw,” Rie says, pouting at him. “C’mon, Jeno, won’t you—” 

“No, because you’re nosy and you’ll ruin everything,” Jeno says, glaring at her. Rie glares right back, setting her jaw. 

“Yeah, well, you’re a—” 

“Rie, he’s injured,” their mother cuts in, and Jeno watches smugly as his sister bites back her remark, grinding her teeth. Later, Jeno knows, she’ll sneak back in and threaten him until he gives up his secrets. And he’ll tell her, will even let her press next to him and run her hand through his hair like she did when he was much smaller and far more afraid. There won’t be enough room for them on his narrow hospital bed, and she’ll be far too loud when Jeno confirms that yes, Jaemin _is_ half-Veela, and _yes,_ he’s _that_ pretty all the time. 

He wakes up Christmas morning with her still next to him, drooling all over his bedsheets, blazing hotter than a furnace and making him sweat. 

“Get _off,_ ” he mutters, shoving her hard enough that she starts to slide off the bed. Her eyes fly open, and she shrieks, grabbing onto Jeno before she can land on the ground. “ _That’s_ for asking me about Mark Lee.” 

“Why are you always so angry in the morning?” She demands, sitting up and glaring at him. The expression is so familiar that it makes Jeno both infuriated and nostalgic. “And the Mark question was a _valid_ one, Jeno. You pined—” 

“Good morning,” the male Healer from yesterday says, bustling in and effectively cutting Jeno’s sister off. “How are you feeling?” 

“Same as yesterday,” Jeno reports. “Though I think my sister re-fractured my ribs.” 

Rie slides off the bed and sticks her tongue out at Jeno behind the Healer’s back. “I’ll go get Mom and Dad,” she says. “I’m sure they’re in the lobby.” 

The Healer does his checks on Jeno, tapping his wand on various spots and pausing, like he’s listening for something. He declares Jeno good enough to sit up and eat breakfast, which his mother has brought in several tupperware containers for all of them.

They laugh and eat and open presents, and it’s just like any Christmas morning except for the fact that Jeno is mostly immobile and has to use one hand to tear the wrapping paper off. His friends come by later in the afternoon, and they exchange gifts as well. Donghyuck got him a new scarf, because his old one was so bloodstained from the accident that they’d burned it; Jisung and Chenle went half-and-half on a collector’s edition on _Plays of History: Quidditch Matches to Remember,_ and Renjun bought him a long string of lights that change color depending on the mood of the room. He and Donghyuck string them up behind Jeno’s bed, where they immediately shift to a warm, yellow-orange color. 

“Aw, look at that,” Chenle says, holding up the guide. “It says we’re all happy.” 

“You’d better be,” Donghyuck says. “I spent a ton of money on gifts for you lot.” 

Jisung nods at Jeno’s new book. “Do you know how much _this_ was?” 

They begin to bicker good-naturedly, and Jeno leans in and taps Renjun on the shoulder. “Hey, do you know where—” 

“Oh, am I late?” Comes Jaemin’s voice from the doorway, and all of the pain in Jeno’s body temporarily vanishes when Jaemin smiles at him, sweet and possibly more than Jeno’s heart can handle. 

“Bloody hell,” Jisung says under his breath. “Here we go.” 

“I can hear you,” Jeno says, but he sounds slightly dizzy even to his own ears. And that’s because Jaemin is _still_ smiling at him, holding out a small, silver-wrapped parcel. “I already gave the rest of them their gifts,” Jaemin explains, “but I needed to re-wrap yours, so that’s why I’m a bit late.” 

Jeno accepts the gift. Jaemin twists his hands together as Jeno opens it, fumbling a bit with the wrapping. Inside is a long silver chain, a ring dangling from the end of it. There’s something inscribed in French on the inside of it—he’ll have to look it up later. 

“A necklace?” Donghyuck asks, reaching out and grabbing the ring. “What’s it say?” 

“Uh, nothing important,” Jaemin says hastily. “But I put a little magic on it—basically, if you, um, are cold, or lonely, or whatever, it’ll heat up.” He shrugs. “If you don’t like it—” 

“I do,” Jeno says immediately, meaning it. “I really, really like it. _You_ did the magic? Was it hard?” 

“Not really,” Jaemin says, shoulders dropping as he reads the expression on Jeno’s face. “Getting the ring customized was the tricky part.” 

“D’you think it’ll fit around the neck brace?” Jeno asks, holding the necklace up. 

“I can try,” Jaemin offers shyly, and Jeno holds the necklace out to him. There’s the feeling of Jaemin’s fingers, shifting the hem of his shirt as he fastens the necklace under the brace. His breath brushes the back of Jeno’s head. Jaemin, as always, smells of lavender and something heavier, something infinitely more fitting. He pulls back, and Jeno can see the ring of gold around his pupil, shimmering slightly in the light. Not quite human, but entirely Jaemin Na. 

“Uh,” Jisung says, shattering their little bubble. “Hey, guys. We’re still here, too.” 

“Don’t be an ass,” Donghyuck says, whacking Jisung on the back of the head. “They were having a moment.” 

“Yeah, and I just ate breakfast,” Jisung complains. “You have to admit that was a little—” 

“Do you two _ever_ shut up?” Renjun asks, irate. “God _damn._ ” 

Jaemin turns back to Jeno, smiling again. “Do you like it?” 

Jeno touches the ring where it rests against his chest, currently cool. “Yeah. I do.” He forces himself to meet Jaemin’s eyes again, and his heart jumps into his throat. “Thanks, Jaemin. I didn’t get you anything, though, and now I feel bad.” 

“Don’t,” Jaemin insists. “Please. I wanted to.” 

“Yeah, but so do I. Can I at least, I dunno, buy you lunch?” 

Jaemin stares at Jeno for a long second, scrutinizing. Jeno doesn’t think he’ll ever grow used to the intensity of that look. “I’d like that,” Jaemin says at last. 

“Even if it’s just from the cafeteria?” Jeno asks. Jaemin’s smile grows, teeth flashing. 

“If it’s with you, Jeno,” Jaemin replies, leaning close, “then it doesn’t matter.” 

* * *

By the end of the week, Jeno is going a little stir-crazy. The Healers, seeing how restless he is, finally give him free roam of the hospital, with the exceptions of the roof (too cold) and anything that will require running or going up the stairs (too dangerous). Jeno agrees with that last one—movement is a chore with crutches, his leg healing slowly despite magical assistance. 

“I thought they could just cast a spell and fix all of me,” Jeno complains to Jaemin that next Monday morning, leaning heavily against the wall halfway between the cafeteria and the library. “Why is it taking so long?” 

Jaemin rubs Jeno’s back sympathetically. “You’d short-circuit and your body would give out,” he says. “And there’s no dying. You promised.” 

“I did,” Jeno agrees, adjusting his broken arm in its sling. He’s still got the stupid neck brace on, too, much to his chagrin—it’s a daily source of amusement for all of his friends, though the Healer insists that it’s vital to proper recovery. Even Jaemin, who’s been very gentle these past seven days, hides a smile every now and then when Jeno has to turn his whole body around to look behind him. 

“Is everything else doing alright, though?” Jaemin asks. “What’d the Healer say this morning?” 

“The usual,” Jeno replies. “Healing slow and steady, keep taking care of myself, eat some chocolate.” 

“Chocolate,” Jaemin muses thoughtfully. “That’s a funny British thing.” 

“Oh, god, we used to get hurt on _purpose_ just to get candy,” Jeno replies, thinking about the time Rie jumped from the top branches of their backyard tree, or how Jun used to purposefully crash his bike. Even Jeno had over-dramaticized falls down the stairs or stubbed toes just so he’d get chocolate. “My mom figured us out though, and banned sweets from the house. Rie used to smuggle stuff in her sleeves. She’s got a bit of a sweet tooth.” 

“Your dad’s a Muggle, right?” Jaemin asks, following along slowly as Jeno pushes himself off the wall and resumes his pitiful hobble down towards the library. 

“Yeah,” Jeno says. “But it never felt out-of-place, or anything. He’s always just followed my mom, and they love each other a lot. They both did a good job raising me and the twins.” 

“I think so, too,” Jaemin replies, smiling. Jeno looks down at his feet so he doesn’t trip, aware that Jaemin knows exactly what that smile does to him. “That sounds nice. My parents—” 

He’s interrupted by Donghyuck and Renjun sprinting down the hallway, red-cheeked and out-of-breath. “Snow!” Donghyuck shouts, grabbing Jaemin by the elbow. “Get your coats!” 

“Snow?” Jeno asks Donghyuck, feeling like he’s a little kid all over again, eleven years old and watching the first heavy snowfall at Hogwarts. “Really?” 

“Hell yes!” Donghyuck replies, grinning and shooting Jeno a thumbs up. “Hurry up!” 

Ten minutes later, Jeno’s got his coat on his one good arm and a hat on his head, watching snow fall in thick, white flakes, coating the street. It’s far less busy than Jeno expected, and most people ignore them, too busy zipping up their coats or picking their way through half-melted puddles. The street lights flicker on as the sky grows darker, turning the falling snow yellow-gold. A muffled, personal silence has descended upon them, and Jeno can almost hear his heartbeat, breath fogging in the cold air. 

Jaemin comes up next to him. “Pretty,” he says quietly. “Don’t you think?” 

“I love the snow,” Jeno says, and there’s just something about the look of it all, the quietness of the moment or the still, whiteness of the air that gives him the courage to lean into Jaemin, who says nothing. He only links their hands and tucks them into one of his pockets. He smells clean, like he always does, and Jeno closes his eyes. Jaemin tilts his head against Jeno’s, and says something in French, too quick for Jeno to try to puzzle out. 

They stay like that for as long as they can—until Donghyuck’s nose gets cold, until Renjun’s socks get wet, until Jeno can barely stay awake, lulled by the sound of the snow and easy rhythm of Jaemin’s breathing. 

He feels a bit silly when his friends insist on tucking him into bed, Donghyuck smacking a loud, wet kiss on his forehead and promising lots of alcohol and some friends for New Year’s tomorrow. Renjun drags him out of the room before someone overhears him and forbids Jeno from going out. 

Jaemin hovers near Jeno’s bed, light slanting in from the window and illuminating his face. Jeno’s heart stutters, and he smiles at Jaemin. “Thanks for today,” he says. “You’ll have to tell me about your parents tomorrow.” 

Jaemin smiles back, and he outshines the moon, the glittering snow, and everything else on the entire planet. If Jeno could pick one thing in the entire world to keep forever, he’d pick that look on Jaemin’s face, the sort of smile that softens his cheeks and pulls at the corners of his eyes, that turns his whole face into something infinitely warm and bright. 

The words are on the tip of Jeno’s tongue. Jaemin takes a half-step forward, hesitant, and Jeno knows what could happen next, if he was brave enough to let it. 

But this is Jaemin Na, and this should be a dream. And Jeno has always been a little bit afraid of pretty boys with even prettier smiles. 

So he asks, “See you tomorrow?” 

Jaemin freezes in his tracks, eyes wide. It takes him a second to process, before he nods, backing away slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “Tomorrow.” There’s another beat of silence, and Jeno has half a mind to call him back. A braver Gryffindor would be able to—would kiss Jaemin like Jeno wants to kiss him. 

But neither of them do anything, and Jaemin shuts the door behind him. Jeno is cold and disappointed for the rest of the night. 

* * *

As promised, Donghyuck brings many friends and a large assortment of alcohol. The Healer, who looked at Donghyuck’s innocent expression with a bemused smile, lets Jeno go on the condition that he returns to the hospital without any new injuries. 

So that is how Jeno finds himself hobbling through half-melted snow (he’s upgraded to a walking boot) with his friends towards the subway station, where they take it two stops before getting off in Donghyuck’s neighborhood. Noise spills from packed bars and Christmas trees glitter in living room windows, the sky empty and dark. Jeno sniffs, huddling a little farther into his scarf as he falls into step with Renjun. 

“Why aren’t you walking with Jaemin?” Renjun immediately asks suspiciously, eyeing Jeno. “Did you fight?” 

“No,” Jeno says quickly—too quickly, because Renjun narrows his eyes. “No, we just—we nearly—” 

“Jeno, Renjun, come on,” Chenle says, gesturing at the two of them from the top step of Donghyuck’s house. “Hyuck and them are already inside. Jaemin’s here too, I reckon.” 

Renjun stares at Jeno for a long second. “You better figure your nonsense out,” Renjun tells Jeno. “Because if you fuck it up with him, you’ll cry. And I don’t want to deal with that.” 

“Hey,” Jeno protests weakly, but knows Renjun’s mostly right. He’s about to ask Renjun _what_ he should do, but Chenle opens the door to Donghyuck’s house and they’re ushered into the party, the bitter sting of winter giving way to sweet-smelling air heavy with conversation. People greet Jeno as he passes them on his way to the kitchen, asking questions about his foot or about the fall or about Jaemin Na, because the two of them have inevitably become linked, whether Jeno likes it or not. 

Donghyuck is in the kitchen, handing out bottles of cider and spiked eggnog. His parents, he tells Jeno, are out partying too, leaving him and his two younger brothers the house. 

There aren’t many people here—maybe twenty-five or so—which is nice, because Jeno doesn’t have to worry about faces or names or getting to know anybody. Mostly, he sits on the window seat with Donghyuck and Jisung and talks about school, about the new year, and about how much his whole body still hurts, despite the healing magic. 

Jaemin is still nowhere to be seen. Jeno is both glad (he’s terrified of awkwardness) and a little disappointed (he really does like Jaemin, even if he’s scared to kiss him). 

But he can’t hide forever, because fate will always come knocking. And for Jeno Lee, it is in the form of Jaemin Na, appearing in the doorway and knocking the wind out of him as usual. Jaemin’s hair is pushed back from his face, and a pink flush sits high on his cheeks, eyes bright. He’s a little unsteady but still coherent, and Jeno feels warm just looking at him. 

“Jeno Lee,” Jaemin says, a slow smile spreading across his face. Jeno’s heart rate spikes dangerously, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees his friends exchange exasperated looks. “I didn’t think you’d come.” 

“I didn’t want to miss it,” Jeno replies, mouth dry. _It’s just Jaemin,_ he tells himself. _You should be over this by now._ “I like New Year’s. And I wanted to see you.” 

Jeno is glad to see that honest comments like that still surprise Jaemin, even if he’s tipsy. His cheeks get a little pinker, and he sets his elbows down on the counter across from Jeno, propping his chin in his hands. “Did you? I thought you’d be weird after last night.” 

“I was tired,” Jeno justifies quickly, but the glimmer in Jaemin’s eyes says that he’s not buying Jeno’s excuses. “Really,” he insists. “I was.” 

“I’m gonna go find Chenle,” Jisung excuses, grabbing Donghyuck by the elbow. “We’ll be back for the countdown, yeah?” 

“Alright,” Jeno says, waving at them. “See you in a bit.” He looks up at Jaemin, who’s still smiling. “Want to sit?” 

“Maybe I will,” Jaemin says, coming around the counter to sit next to Jeno on the bench. There’s a beat of silence as the two of them observe the party in the other room, their friends mingling and laughing. “My mom loves New Year’s,” Jaemin says at last. “Hates Christmas—hates gifts, I should say—but she’s always loved a good party.” 

“Why didn’t you go back?” Jeno asks curiously, and Jaemin shrugs, a little morose. 

“They went back to Korea a while ago,” Jaemin says, looking down at his hands. “I was always…an obligation. Neither of them really wanted to have kids—it was more about them than it was ever about me.” He glances up at Jeno, panicked. “I know that sounds selfish—they love me, I know they do, and I’m grateful for everything that they’ve given me, all the opportunity I have, but…” He trails off, looking a little lost. “They love each other so much that there was never really room for me.” 

“Jaemin—” 

Jaemin waves Jeno off. “Don’t apologize. I’m okay, Jeno, really. It’s just hard to hear aloud, you know? I had myself tricked into thinking they wanted me around for so long. It’s part of why they sent me to France, you know? So they could have their space back.” 

“Is that why you stayed?” 

Finally, Jaemin looks up. His eyes are shiny. “Yes. Because you—you make me feel _wanted._ ” 

“You are,” Jeno says before he can regret it. Before Jaemin can move on, brushing past it with calculated carelessness. “I’m glad you’re here. All the time.” 

“See,” Jaemin says, wiping aggressively at his eyes. “You say stuff like that, and it makes me feel like—like—” 

“I think I know,” Jeno interrupts gently, and maybe it’s a lie, but it eases some of the tension from Jaemin’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Jaemin. We can talk about something else.” 

So they do. They talk about France, they talk about Jeno’s family, they talk about Jaemin coming to England and Beauxbatons. They talk about Quidditch, about growing up with siblings, about hard things and easier things. At some point, Jeno takes Jaemin’s hand, linking their fingers together like they were last night in the snow, and Jaemin tucks himself into Jeno’s side, the sound of his voice thrumming through Jeno’s ribs and chest. And Jeno, warm and content, thinks to himself, _this feels like flying._

* * *

He falls asleep on the bench with Jaemin at his side. They both miss the countdown, and Jeno dreams about kissing Jaemin. 

* * *

Winter break ends, and with it, the floaty, relaxed feeling holidays bring. Their teachers give them no time to recover, and load them all up with homework the first day of classes, leaving Jeno feeling wrung-out and dry by the end of the first day. He meets with Renjun in the library to start his homework, regretting ever leaving Saint Mungo’s. He’s almost totally healed now—the neck brace and the sling are gone. The only thing he’d been ordered to keep on was an ankle brace, which is a far improvement from both the crutches and the silly walking boot. It still hurts every now and then, and he’s not allowed to start playing for another week, meaning he’s got no excuse to procrastinate on his homework. 

“You’ve got to take care of yourself this time,” Renjun whispers at him, glaring. “Or everyone—especially Jaemin—will kill you.” 

“I know, I know,” Jeno says, dipping his quill back into his ink pot. “God, I hate how Trillwind still makes us write essays by hand.” 

“Not everyone grew up using a computer, Jeno,” Renjun reminds him, flicking a scrap of paper at him. “But I see your point. Your handwriting is awful.” 

“Hey, Lee,” someone calls, and Jeno looks up, accidentally spilling ink onto the table. Sai Chadha, a Gryffindor seventh-year, is approaching the table with a stack of papers. “You don’t happen to know where Jaemin Na is, do you? Professor Noire wanted me to give these to him.” 

“No, I don’t,” Jeno says, confused. “Have you tried asking the other Beauxbatons students? They’re probably more likely to know—” 

“Nah, they all told me to ask you,” Sai says, setting the papers down onto the table. “Aren’t you an item, or whatever? I heard you fancy him.” 

“Uh,” Jeno says, pausing. “Yes? Maybe? I mean, we’re not going out or anything like that, but—” 

“Right, great,” Sai says, clearly not interested. “Just pass those along to him when you see him, yeah?” 

“Sure, I can do that,” Jeno replies, glancing down at the papers. They look like old tests, for the most part. Jeno snorts when he sees they’re full of red marks, accusing Jaemin of ‘lazy potion-making’ and ‘careless answers’. 

“Thanks, mate,” Sai says, waving as he leaves. “See you ‘round.” 

“Cheers,” Jeno answers, still shuffling through Jaemin’s papers. “Renjun, check these out. Listen to this, the question was, _what is the key difference between the Potion of Forgetting and the Potion of Unmemory?_ Jaemin writes, ‘I forgot’ and puts a _smiley face_ at the end.” 

“No way,” Renjun says, leaning over. Sure enough, though, that’s exactly what Jaemin has written. “Wow. So he’s not good at everything.” 

“Who’s not good at what?” Jaemin asks, coming up behind Jeno and propping his chin on Jeno’s head. When he sees what they’re looking at, he laughs. Jeno can feel it echo through Jaemin’s chest, which is pressed against his back. “Oh, yeah. I don’t think Professor Noire likes me that much.” 

“I can help you study, if you want,” Renjun offers. “I’ve always been fairly decent at Potions.” 

“Eh,” Jaemin shrugs, pulling away from Jeno, who almost protests until Jaemin slides into the seat next to him, their legs nearly touching. “ _C’est comme ça,_ you know?” 

“I have no idea what that means,” Renjun tells Jaemin. “You know that.” 

“He does it on purpose,” Jeno informs Renjun, “because he thinks it’s funny when people look at him blankly and ask him what it means.” 

Jaemin knocks his knee into Jeno’s playfully. “I do not.” 

“You absolutely do,” Renjun tacks on, and Jaemin laughs, propping his chin on his fist. “What does it mean?” 

“Oh, um, how to put it,” Jaemin says, mulling it over. “I guess, like...‘it is how it is’? That’s not a direct translation, but it’s pretty much the gist of it.” 

“You could’ve just said that in English,” Renjun points out. 

“Yeah, but it’s more fun in French,” Jaemin says, grinning. Renjun’s expression only flickers for a moment (even _he’s_ not truly immune to Jaemin’s half-Veela charm) before he goes back to his homework, huffing under his breath about terrible friends and distractions. 

Jaemin turns to Jeno with a terribly mischievous look on his face. “Jaem, I’ve got homework,” Jeno says, a little desperately, but the minute Jaemin Na walked into Hogwarts was the minute Jeno abandoned his ability to tell him _no._

Renjun’s head lifts at the nickname, and he looks between the two of them with an increasing exasperation. “Jeno, do _not_ ,” he says warningly, catching the edge of Jaemin’s smile. 

“We should go find my friend and play cards,” Jaemin suggests, and his knee knocks into Jeno’s again. Jeno can feel himself caving, and he shoots Renjun a helpless look. 

“I have homework,” Jeno repeats, edging farther away. Jaemin chases him, presses his knee against Jeno’s again, puts a hand on his arm. The edges of him are glimmering, and every part of Jeno begs to give in and listen to what he has to say. “Hey, stop that. That’s not fair.” Jeno means the magic—the Veela blood in him, the same sort of thing that dazzles passerby and stops people in their tracks. 

“What’s not?” Jaemin asks, eyes wide. “I’m not doing anything.” 

The hand on Jeno’s arm is warm, even through his sweater. Jaemin smiles, and Jeno loses feeling in his face at the brightness of it. The stupid, simple part of him basks in it and rolls over. 

He’s never been particularly difficult, or very guarded. It’s part of the reason Mark Lee broke his heart so easily, and explains the ease in which Jaemin has wiggled his way into Jeno’s chest, scooping out a spot for his smile and his laugh, for the complex parts of him and the easy parts. It’s the part that begs Jeno to put away his work and just go with him. 

He’s stupid, and so, so predictable. He finds that he doesn’t mind in the slightest, because it’s Jaemin. 

“Okay, fine,” Jeno says at last, and Jaemin whoops, springing from his seat with a grin that makes Jeno’s heart flop weakly against his ribs. Renjun sighs, massaging his temples. 

“I’m not going to help you when you’re behind,” Renjun threatens. He never means it, Jeno knows—by the time February comes, blistering and unforgiving, Jeno is back on his broomstick and Renjun is letting him copy Arithmancy homework by the light of the dying fire in the library. 

By now, the whole school knows about Jeno and Jaemin, and has deemed them utterly inseparable, something that endears Jeno but annoys his friends. Jaemin’s friends come up to him all the time and ask where they might find him, and when people greet Jaemin, they greet Jeno too, tacking his name next to Jaemin’s like there’s no other place it should be. 

* * *

However, it’s grind time, as Donghyuck aptly states, which means Jeno is as busy—if not busier—than he was before winter break. Despite the cold and the snow showing no signs of lifting, the Championships loom ever closer, heralded by the upcoming match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Jeno messily divides his life between Quidditch, schoolwork, and Jaemin—everything else takes a backseat, and he begins to treasure mealtimes, when he can sit with his friends and chat easily without feeling like a deadline is looming over him. 

He and Jaemin take moments when they can get them—before class, passing periods, in those precious minutes of slow lucidity after the end of practice, right before bed. Sometimes, if his homework pile is big enough or Jaemin smiles in the way Jeno is especially weak against, they’ll head to the kitchen and eat madeleine cookies, drink tea, and do homework until Jeno falls asleep with his face in his books, ink smeared across his cheek. There are plenty of nights like these as midterms approach and then pass, leaving behind pale faces and hands that shake with over-caffeination. 

They’re hovering on the edge of something, Jeno knows. He can feel it in the increasing amount of physical contact, the way that Jaemin leans into him, sticking his hands into Jeno’s hoodie pockets or robe, draping his arms over Jeno’s shoulders and propping a chin on his head, on his bicep. He smells, as always, of lavender and something smoother, headier. Winter break had set some things into motion, and if Jeno were brave enough—if he wanted to, he could kiss Jaemin. Many times. He knows Jaemin would probably let him. 

But. 

_But I’m terrified,_ he thinks on the morning of the Ravenclaw-Slytherin game, this time decked in green to support Jisung’s team (Slytherin was going to lose anyway, Jisung rationalized, so it wouldn’t even matter in the long run). He knows the risk would pay off, most likely. But it’s that first step that sends ice through his veins, that stills his heart and stops him from making a move. 

“This is your downfall,” Donghyuck tells him at the Quidditch game, over the roaring of the fans. “You’re a decisions kind of person, Jeno. You’ve got to be sure before you go for it, right?” 

Jeno presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. Ravenclaw scores another goal, and a Slytherin Beater hits a Bludger at the Keeper so hard Madam Liete calls a foul. Donghyuck has hit the nail on the head, unfortunately. Whereas Donghyuck seems to revel in unsurity, in risk-taking, in the drama of standing at the edge of a cliff, Jeno’s nature is to think things through, once, twice, and then a third time, just to be sure. When he’d been offered Captain, it’d taken him nearly the whole summer to decide, driving everyone he knew a little mad with impatience. But he’d decided, and then he’d done his best to follow through, committed to it with every fiber in his body. 

Donghyuck pats him on the back. “You’re a good egg, Jeno,” he says. “You’ll figure it out.” 

“Did you just call me an egg?” Jeno asks, unable to hold back laughter. “That’s something my grandma would say.” 

Donghyuck is laughing too. “I don’t know. I’m awful at relationship advice. It just felt like the right thing to say.” 

They dissolve into hysterics, the wind stinging their faces. Ravenclaw catches the Snitch as they’re straightening up. Nobody is surprised at Slytherin’s loss, though the House—naturally competitive, ambitious, the kind of people that take their personal failures to heart—is a little frustrated. That makes two games, now, that Slytherin has lost, putting them at the bottom of the ranking. Ravenclaw is second, and Hufflepuff and Gryffindor are tied for first. The next match, coming up in March, will determine (if it’s not a tie, of course, which is more likely than Jeno would prefer) which team will take the lead heading into the last two matches in the spring. 

First, though, there’s Valentine’s Day. Jeno almost forgets about it—the actual day itself is pushed aside for the most part, and most couples wait until the Friday after, on a Hogsmeade day, to have their date. Jeno spends most of it getting teased by Donghyuck about Jaemin, which, fine, he sort of deserves it, and the rest of it moping about because he can’t actually _find_ Jaemin. 

The last call for Hogsmeade goes out, and Jeno is running around the castle, sweating through his nicest sweater, looking for Jaemin. He wants to ask him out. He wants to go to Hogsmeade with him again, wants to crowd into a pub and drink until he’s lightheaded, wants to hide him in one of those tiny cobbled alleyways and kiss him senseless—

He about crashes into someone on his way up the stairs to the second floor, where another Beauxbatons student told Jeno he’d seen Jaemin a little bit ago. 

“Pardon me,” Jeno says, at the same as the person goes, “Oh, excuse me.” 

They recognize each other at the same time. 

“Jaemin?” 

“Jeno?” 

“God,” Jaemin says, laughing and putting his hands on Jeno’s shoulders, “I was looking all over for you! Where’d you go?” 

“What d’you mean, where did I go? Where did _you_ go?” Jeno asks. “I searched all over—” 

“Me too!” Jaemin cuts in, and he and Jeno stare at each other for a long second before bursting into laughter. “Wait, come on, we can’t miss the last carriage!” 

Jaemin grabs Jeno’s hand tightly and together they make a break for it, bursting through the front doors and towards Professor Trillwind, who takes one look at them before waving them through, exasperated. 

They’re still laughing even as they pile into the carriage, Jeno fitting snugly against Jaemin as they lurch towards the village. “You look good,” Jaemin comments, running a hand over Jeno’s hair, smoothing down flyaways. 

“I’m sure you’re just saying that,” Jeno says, fanning himself. “I’m drenched in sweat.” Jaemin, naturally, looks perfect, his shirt wrinkle-free and jacket immaculate. He’s not even red-faced from the run they just made. “You, on the other hand, look perfect.” 

Jaemin ducks his head shyly. “Thanks,” he says. Jeno’s still not sure why Jaemin has such a hard time with those compliments—they’re _true,_ for one, and he probably gotten _thousands_ of them, given how he looks and how he laughs. Generally just how he does _everything._

God, Jeno likes him so much. _So_ much. 

He asks Jaemin about this when they’re in the Three Broomsticks, crowded in at the bar. Jaemin is attracting attention, of course he is, but he’s got an arm draped across Jeno’s waist, closing himself off to everyone but Jeno. He gets a few looks, ranging from curiosity to jealousy, like some people can’t understand why such a pretty boy picked someone so _average._ Jeno can’t believe it either, if he’s being totally honest. 

He’s perhaps a little tipsy when he asks, “Why me?” 

And maybe Jaemin is a little tipsy too when he replies, “It was always going to be you.”

They’re both drunk and laughing by the time they get back to the castle, falling over one another, Jaemin’s arm still tight around Jeno’s waist, its weight steadying.

Jeno doesn’t know if Jaemin knows where he’s going, but lets himself be led anyway, traipsing up the stairs of a narrow tower, their shadows long under the light of the torches. Jaemin is singing under his breath in French, and Jeno feels like he’s underwater, the sounds of their footsteps and Jaemin’s voice cottony and muffled. He’s tired, too, in a sleepy drunk way, and tells Jaemin this as he stumbles up another step. 

“Let’s sit down, then,” Jaemin says, and tugs Jeno down to sit next to him. The window next to them lets in a wide swath of moonlight, and Jaemin glows in it as he pulls Jeno close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jeno is too drunk to do anything but let his head roll back against Jaemin’s chest, which rises and falls steadily, heartbeat ringing in Jeno’s ears. 

Jaemin starts talking about France and being good at defensive magic. Jeno talks about England, about wanting to play Quidditch forever, and about his siblings. Jaemin asks about his parents; Jeno wants to know more about Beauxbatons, about Jaemin’s friends back at home and what his classes are like. 

Jaemin tells him all of this, voice echoing slightly against the stone, warmth seeping through Jeno’s coat and into his bones. Their hands find each other at some point, fingers locking like they never intend to separate. And Jeno looks out at the snow-fallen grounds, at the moon, silver in the sky, and then at Jaemin’s face, breathtaking and familiar and beautiful in a hundred ways Jeno could never describe. And Jeno has never been in love before, but he thinks—he thinks that this is maybe as good as it gets. 


	3. spring

Gryffindor faces Hufflepuff on a cold, blustery afternoon during the first weekend of March. It's a Saturday afternoon, and despite the slowly-increasing pressure regarding N.E.W.Ts and O.W.Ls and other awful exams, homework has been turned aside in favor of watching the most highly-anticipated Quidditch match-up of the season. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor have the same record—one win, no losses—and are thus tied for first. This game will make one team and break the other, unless they tie. 

“We’re not tying Hufflepuff,” Vivian Rehman says in the locker room before the game, crossing her arms. “We win or lose like true Gryffindors.” 

“Hopefully win,” Sean mumbles. He looks anxious, probably because the Hufflepuff Seeker is one of the best the school has seen since the likes of Harry Potter. “I think I’m going to be sick, Captain.” 

“No you are _not_ ,” Donghyuck says, scowling. Mia Wilshore sits on the bench next to Sean and rubs his back comfortingly. Donghyuck and Jeno exchange a look. _You’re the captain,_ Donghyuck’s face says. _This is your move._

Jeno sighs, and crosses over to sit on the other side of Sean. “Sean, listen to me,” he starts, and Sean lifts his head to look at Jeno, who suddenly remembers that Sean is only _fourteen_ , and this is only his second year playing Quidditch. Jeno takes another breath, resolve firm. “You’re going to get out there, and you’re going to do your absolute best, and we’re going to crush Hufflepuff.” He puts a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “You’re not alone out there,” Jeno reminds him. “You’ve got us.” 

Sean digests this, and his shoulders relax. He exhales slowly. “You’re right,” he says. “We’ve got this.” 

There’s some tightening of armbraces, an extra layer thrown on here and there, and then the Gryffindor team walks out of the locker room to a wall of noise. 

Jeno shakes the hand of the Hufflepuff captain, then Madam Liete blows her whistle and they’re off, Lucas Kingsbury running through who’s playing what position as Jeno and the other Chasers set up their first offense maneuver of the game. They break past the defense and Mia whips the Quaffle towards the goal. There’s a collective shout through the arena, but the Hufflepuff Keeper catches it and tosses it back to his team. 

The Hufflepuff offense isn’t anything special, not like Ravenclaw’s, and their Keeper is solidly average. Jeno can feel his team’s excitement as they score again, and again—everyone is playing at their best right now, Jeno’s sure of it. The rest and the practice has done them well. They move like an oiled machine, as one, and Hufflepuff melts under their offense. 

They call a time-out when it’s 150-0, and the seven of them land on their side of the pitch, buzzing with energy. 

“Okay, keep this up,” Jeno tells them. “Don’t get too excited and start forgetting all the practice you’ve put in. I don’t know what’s up with Hufflepuff today, but we don’t want to give them an opening to start coming back.” 

The time-out ends, and they’re back on their brooms. Jeno has the Quaffle under his arm, headed towards the hoops, when there’s motion out of the corner of his eye. 

“Hufflepuff’s seen the Snitch!” Lucas Kingsbury shouts excitedly, and Jeno’s stomach swoops. He passes to Mia, flies around a Beater, and then catches the Quaffle again, pulls his arm back to shoot—

And Hufflepuff’s defense locks into place, unbreakable, patient, and effective. Jeno has to swerve to avoid running into one of the Chasers, and loops back around to try again. Every fiber of him screams to look at the race for the Snitch, but they have other problems, like the necessity of scoring, right now, before Hufflepuff can tie the game. 

“And that’s Bellinger on Kasper’s tail, I don’t know if he’s going to make it in time, though, Kasper’s a force to be reckoned with—oh, that’s gotta be a—” 

“FOUL!” The red-colored side of the stadium cries, flying to its feet. But it’s too late—Hufflepuff’s Seeker has caught the Snitch, and the game has tied. Sean’s got a horrified, furious expression on his face and a violently-bleeding nose. 

Jeno’s ears are ringing a little with the shock, and for a second, the Gryffindor team just sits there, hovering in the air on their broomsticks. When they land, Jason and Mia go to take Sean to the hospital wing for his broken nose, and Donghyuck goes, “Well, at least we didn’t lose.” 

“We were going to _win,_ ” Vivian says, stunned. “How did their Seeker pull that off?” 

“Their teamwork is immaculate,” Lynne says. She pulls her gloves off and bitterly tosses them into her locker. “They’re not a powerhouse in the slightest, but they’re _so_ solid. I heard today was an off day because three of their team members are down with mono, but they’ll be back.” 

_And then what,_ Jeno thinks. He remembers their defense on that last play, airtight and immobile. Their offense had broken entirely against it. And Kasper, the Hufflepuff Seeker—she’s going to be an issue, Jeno knows. Especially when the rest of the Hufflepuff team comes back. 

He’s in a grey mood for the rest of the day, but does his best to put on a good face for Sean, who’s clearly taking the loss very hard. They bring him dinner and sit and chat for a little while—Miss Premis is making him stay the night, because he’d shattered his cheekbone as well and she wants to make sure it sets right. 

“That’s just what happens when you take a Bludger _and_ a bat to the face,” Donghyuck says wisely, patting Sean on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club. You’re the third member.” 

“Who’s the second?” Lynne asks, looking around. “Jeno?” 

“No,” Donghyuck says, snorting. “Jeno took a _Quaffle_ to the face and it about killed him. Can you imagine what a Bludger would do to him?” 

“Blast him into outer space, probably,” Jason muses, and Jeno rolls his eyes good-naturedly, going along with the teasing. His ankle throbs in memory of the accident, and he reaches down to adjust the brace he still wears. 

“I’m the one who got bat and Bludger,” Mia says, raising her hand and grinning. She points at her left tooth, which upon closer inspection, is chipped. “It happened over the summer when I was training in Canada.” 

“Oh my god, I never heard about that,” Lynne says, scooting her chair closer. “Do tell.” 

Mia leans forward and launches into a dramatic retelling of how she chipped her tooth. Smile fading a little, Jeno stands, his knees and back protesting tiredly. Donghyuck catches Jeno’s eye and stops him at the doors with a gentle hand on his chest. “Are you upset about the tie?” Donghyuck asks quietly. 

“No,” Jeno says, and it’s mostly the truth. He’s not mad that they tied so much as he’s worried about what happens next—there are so many unknowns now, and that terrifies him. Quidditch was one thing that always felt predictable, certain. Like, he knew the work he needed to put in to get a specific outcome, tried and true every time. But this—this is something he didn’t see coming. He failed his team, in a way, and he failed himself. “I’m just worried about the games in the future.” 

“Jeno,” Donghyuck says, still quiet. “We’ll all work hard, and we’ll find out what we can about Hufflepuff, okay? It’ll work out.” 

“I know,” Jeno replies. _But that’s not going to stop me from thinking about it._ Almost in response to his thoughts, the ring Jaemin had given him heats against his sternum, a small little warmth that eases the bitter knot in his chest just a bit. Jeno sighs, rubbing his eyes, and Donghyuck makes a sympathetic noise. 

Behind him, someone clears his throat. It’s Jaemin, still wearing scarlet, his cheeks a little pink like he’d just come out of the cold. Jeno’s heart flutters at the sight of him, and Donghyuck heaves a long-suffering sigh. The ring is still warm. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Donghyuck says. “Go easy on yourself, Jeno.” 

“I’ll try,” Jeno promises, trying to mean it. Donghyuck pats both him and Jaemin on the back before rejoining the knot of people around Sean’s bed. Jaemin beckons to Jeno, who sticks his hands in his pockets as they make their way down the hallway. Neither of them says anything for a little bit. Jeno suspects it’s because Jaemin can sense the weight on his shoulders, the storminess of his mind. 

“Have you eaten?” Jaemin asks after a time, and Jeno shakes his head. That’s how he and Jaemin end up at the Great Hall, the tables mostly empty as dinner wraps up. They find a seat at the Gryffindor table, and Jaemin spoons shepherd’s pie onto Jeno’s plate. It is—thanks to house elf magic—still hot. Jeno, however, doesn’t eat at first, just sticks his fork into the mashed potatoes. His stomach feels leaden, and his throat itches with emotion. 

“Hey,” Jaemin prompts, putting a gentle hand on Jeno’s back. “Talk to me.” 

Jeno lets out a frustrated sigh, fork dropping to his plate with a clatter. “I just feel like—I feel like we shouldn’t have lost.” 

“You didn’t,” Jaemin says. “You tied.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Jeno mumbles. “I feel like absolute shit.” 

Jaemin’s hand is making soothing circles between Jeno’s shoulder blades, easing some of the tension that’s built up there. “You feel like you let your team down?” 

“Yeah,” Jeno says, his candor so unexpected he surprises himself. “It’s almost _worse_ than losing, because it was a win we should’ve gotten. If I’d made that goal, or if Hufflepuff’s defense had been bad for just _ten more seconds,_ we would’ve won.” 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Jaemin huffs, and reaches around to grab Jeno’s face, hands cupping his jaw firmly. His brow is furrowed, mouth downturned, expression ferocious and so bright it nearly burns through Jeno’s skin. “I’m pulling you out of this.” 

“Out of what?” Jeno asks, a little dazed. It’s incredibly hard to keep his eyes off of Jaemin’s mouth, teeth white and flashing behind his lips. 

Jaemin gives him a little shake, and that helps. He snaps his eyes back up, only to quail a little beneath Jaemin’s unnecessarily heated glare. “If you start moping now, you’re not going to stop until _May_ ,” Jaemin accuses, “when you play again.” Jaemin jerks his head towards the frosted-over glass. “May is _far,_ Jeno. You don’t get to mope for a month and a half.” 

“But—” 

“No buts,” Jaemin says firmly, and shakes Jeno again. His neck is starting to hurt, and his cheeks are hot underneath Jaemin’s hands. There’s a not-insignificant part of him that wants to lean in and kiss Jaemin until they’re both breathless. This is mostly Jaemin’s fault, because when he gets worked up like this, he relaxes his hold on the Veela magic. It’s also partially Jeno’s fault, because, after an embarrassingly large amount of research, he discovered that the effects of said Veela magic compound the more attracted one is to the Veela themselves. 

Jaemin has said something else and Jeno has missed it entirely, but is sure it was very sweet and caring, so he nods and gives Jaemin the best smile he can muster. 

“What are you nodding about?” Jaemin asks, frowning. “Were you even listening to anything I said?” 

“Absolutely,” Jeno says, but Jaemin just eyes him, clearly disbelieving. “You’re cute. Thanks for caring.” 

The compliment is a bit of a low blow, if Jeno’s going to be honest, aimed at Jaemin’s weak spot. And it works, too—Jaemin turns an endearing shade of pink and lets go of Jeno, muttering things about _stupid athletes_ and _pretty smiles._

Jeno, satisfied and maybe a little smug, finds that his appetite has returned. The shepherd’s pie is extra delicious tonight. 

* * *

The N.E.W.Ts creep ever-closer, and all of their professors go absolutely _mad_ with homework. There are endless Arithmancy problems, essays on conceptual Transfiguration ideas that make his head spin, diagrams for Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology labs, potions gone wrong—plus Quidditch, four times a week that Jeno’s scheduled early in the morning because too many of them have too much homework to do. 

And still, Jeno makes space for Jaemin. He’s got an excuse to keep them on the edge this time, though he can sense Jaemin’s frustration. There are a few close scrapes where Jeno almost gets ahead of himself, or where Jaemin will look at Jeno with so much intensity it feels like the floor is falling out from under him. They’ll wake up crammed together on one of the loveseats in the library, or Jaemin will fold himself into Jeno seemingly without thinking at breakfast, one arm around Jeno’s waist while he drinks his coffee and talks with Chenle and Donghyuck. 

“You and that Veela boy dating?” People ask often, and Jeno will purse his lips and say no, we’re not, or Jaemin will laugh brightly and wind his arm through Jeno’s without answering. It is an unsaid, untouched thing between them. Jeno is too afraid to take the next step, hates the precipice more than the drop, even if he can see the bottom. 

“He’s not going to wait around forever,” Renjun warns him one rainy day. Winter has finally melted into spring, though the weather isn’t getting any better—most days are grey and overcast, and the damp chill sinks into Jeno’s bones, making it impossible to warm up. “It’s all fine and good now, because for all intents and purposes, you’re dating—” 

“We are _not_ ,” Jeno protests, but it’s weak. There’s more truth in that statement than he’d like to admit, and Renjun knows it. Donghyuck, like he can sense Jeno’s internal toil, snorts. 

“It’s no fun to be stuck in limbo,” Donghyuck tacks on, giving Jeno a look. “Mark Lee did that to you, remember?” 

“Unfortunately,” Jeno mutters. He hasn’t thought about Mark Lee in months, too wrapped up in Jaemin and Quidditch. 

“Was it fun?” 

Donghyuck has a point, as he always does. It used to be annoying, how often he was right (and how often he’d be smug about it, too) but at this point in Jeno’s life, he’s not even surprised anymore. “No,” Jeno admits, and true to form, Donghyuck gives Jeno that smug look and crosses his arms. 

“Yeah, it sucked,” Donghyuck surmises. “So don’t do that to him. You can only be a coward for so long, Jeno, before Jaemin won’t want to wait around anymore.” 

“I’m _terrified,_ ” Jeno points out, frowning. “How is that cowardly?” 

“He didn’t say it was _unwarranted_ cowardice,” Renjun points out. Jeno’s frown deepens, not sure if he’s being insulted or defended. 

“Yeah, it’s scary,” Donghyuck continues. “But I know you don’t want to lose Jaemin, mate. So you’ve gotta confess at some point.”

Stated like that, it sounds simple and easy. And maybe it is easier for Donghyuck, who, despite having a rather limited emotional vocabulary, is much braver than Jeno. He’s never been afraid to dive head-first into things like this. And then there’s Renjun, who’s confident and clear-headed and knows when to pull back. Not like Jeno, who flounders around, trying to do the right thing without knowing what that actually _is._ It’s all very hard to contextualize, like Renjun just did, or muscle through it, like Donghyuck would. 

“Just think about it,” Renjun says quickly, like he can sense Jeno starting to panic. “You don’t need to do anything now.” 

“But soon,” Donghyuck tacks on unhelpfully. “Or else.” 

“Don’t say _or else,_ ” Jeno says faintly, slumping against the wall. “That doesn’t help.” 

“You’ll get it, mate,” Donghyuck assures him, slapping him on the back.

“Or you won’t,” Renjun says, patting his shoulder. “Either way, we’re here for you.” 

Jeno hears their advice, he really does, and he tries his best to carry through with it. But every time he says Jaemin’s name, every time Jaemin turns around to look at him with expectant eyes, he loses courage and makes up a flimsy excuse. 

“I don’t get why he can’t just ask me,” Jeno remarks at breakfast one morning. Everyone else is asleep, still—it’s nine AM on a Sunday, and Jeno couldn’t sleep—so it’s just him and Chenle, the only early riser of their group, bizarrely. 

Chenle shovels some cereal into his mouth and shrugs. “Dunno. If Renjun were here, he’d say something about, like, masculine roles or somethin’.” Milk dribbles down his chin and he wipes it away thoughtfully, swallowing. “I think it’s probably because he’s just as afraid as you are. Go easy on him.” 

“What about me?” Jeno asks, watching steam curl off the top of his tea and feeling a little overlooked. “Can’t _he_ go easy on _me?_ ” 

“He is,” Chenle says very reasonably. “He’s letting you hold his hand without actually calling it anything. You’ve made mini quiches together. He knows how you like your tea. You spend just about every waking minute together—” 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Jeno cuts in, face heating. “So you’re saying…we’re both scared?” 

Chenle takes another bite of cereal. “Probably. I don’t actually know. It’s hard to tell. Just be nice to him and do what makes you happy, Jeno. Don’t think too hard about it.” 

Jeno eyes Chenle. “You…when did you become so good at advice?” 

“I listen,” Chenle says simply. “It’s everything you’ve told me over the years, anyway. I’m just repeating it back to you.” He smiles, the kind where his whole face lights up. “Sometimes, all you really need to hear is yourself.” 

* * *

March ends violently, midterms creeping up on the student body and slaughtering them all, even the French students. People cry in the bathrooms and lean on their friends, ashen-faced, after two-hour-long written exams or grueling practicals. Jeno’s last test is Care of Magical Creatures, which, while shorter than most of his other exams, was outside, meaning he’s now soaked from head to toe and dripping muddy water everywhere. 

Rain sluices down the windows, and Jeno shivers, gathering his wet robes closer to his body as he squelches up towards Gryffindor Tower. It’s Friday afternoon, meaning most of his friends are done (with the exception of Donghyuck, who has his Astronomy exam during the nighttime) and already camped out in front of the fire in the common room. Jeno has no idea how they even got in there, given the Fat Lady’s general unwillingness to let non-Gryffindor students in. But there they are, relieved but exhausted, crammed into chairs and slumped over half-eaten lunches from the Great Hall. Donghyuck is frantically scribbling notes about moon cycles and planetary axes. Chenle is asleep on Jisung, and Renjun and Jaemin are playing chess, which Jaemin is losing at. 

“Hey, Jeno,” Jisung greets without looking up from his phone. Chenle is drooling on his shoulder. “How were your exams?” 

“Awful,” Jeno says, teeth chattering. “I’m bloody freezing, though, so I’m going to change. And then I might take a nap.” 

“Don’t you want to watch me beat Jaemin in chess?” Renjun asks as one of his bishops tosses one of Jaemin’s pawns off the board, the piece clattering to the ground. “He’s losing with a fair amount of flair, I must admit.” 

“Not only is this game hard,” Jaemin says, scowling and nudging his queen forward, “but it’s boring as well.” 

“I’m collecting evidence,” Renjun says. “For my thesis. ‘Despite having magical blood that makes everyone love him, Jaemin Na is only really good at a few things.’” 

“Ooh,” Donghyuck says, putting his quill down. “What are they?”

“Hexing people and being cheeky,” Renjun says, crossing his arms. “And getting Jeno to do things.” 

Both Jaemin and Jeno go pink at the same time. Jeno looks down at his wet shoes. 

“But Jeno is just as bad,” Donghyuck says, leaning back in his chair. “Jaemin, did you know he’s never—” 

Jeno pulls out his wand before he can think, and Donghyuck’s voice suddenly cuts out. Jaemin’s eyes go wide, and both Jisung and Renjun burst into laughter as Donghyuck tries and fails to find his voice. _Silencio_ is tricky, Jeno knows, but he’s always had a knack for Charms. 

Donghyuck is glaring at Jeno now, shouting at him soundlessly, and Chenle has woken up because Jisung is dissolving into hysterical tears. Jeno crosses his arms. “Not cool, mate, and you know that,” Jeno tells him, and means it. He’s insecure enough as is.

Donghyuck glares at him for a second longer before his frustration melts into something begrudgingly apologetic. He hates to be in the wrong, Jeno knows, and won’t apologize aloud in front of their friends, but the look on his face says enough. 

“ _Sonoro_ ,” Jeno says, and the charm lifts.

“Asshole,” Donghyuck immediately says. _I’m sorry,_ Jeno hears, hidden away in the way he massages his throat and laughs along with Renjun and Jisung. 

Jaemin, however, looks curious, and Jeno knows what he’s about to ask. And—well, he’s embarrassed, so he makes a break for his dormitory before Jaemin can pry the truth from Jeno. 

_Did you know that he’s never kissed someone?_

That’s what Donghyuck had been seconds away from saying, and while it’s not a big deal— _it’s not_ —but Jeno is embarrassed of it nonetheless. He just—he’s never _wanted_ to kiss anyone, besides Mark Lee, but even _he_ could see how that was going to end. 

Jaemin, on the other hand…Jaemin would kiss him back. 

He tugs his wet sweater off, tossing it next to the fire. He doesn’t know any drying spells off the top of his head, will probably have to get Renjun or something to do it for him, or call a house elf, and his skin is cold and clammy to the touch. 

_I hope I don’t get sick,_ Jeno thinks as he pulls on a dry pair of underwear and jeans, sorting through drawers for a clean shirt. He can’t afford to, not with the weather like this and his workload as it is, not when they’re tied for first with Hufflepuff, not when he’s—

“Jeno?” 

Jeno looks up, still shivering and shirtless, and there’s Jaemin, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He stands, trying not to fidget self-consciously as Jaemin creeps into the room, looking around. His eyes linger on the pictures Jeno’s got pinned above his bed, half of them moving, half of them Muggle film. In one, Jeno’s squished between the twins in front of the Hogwarts Express, his brother’s Prefect badge glinting and his sister’s red-and-gold tie hanging loosely around her neck. In another, fifteen-year-old Donghyuck and Jeno clutch new broomsticks in Diagon Alley. The whole of Jeno’s life, documented in a few frames. 

“You’re smiling in all of these,” Jaemin notes. “You were a cute kid.” 

It’s a casual comment, but there’s a low note to it, a sort of tension that gathers the air between them tightly, pulling them together. Jeno feels like the oxygen is being sucked from the room, and he can’t quite catch his breath. 

Jaemin looks up, and his expression is curious, soft at the edges. He’s beautiful, always beautiful, and Jeno is lightheaded. “What was Donghyuck going to say?” 

“He was being an ass,” Jeno mumbles, sitting down on the bed. Jaemin peels away from the photos and comes to sit next to him, not touching, just a solid warmth at Jeno’s side. “It’s not that big of a deal, really.” 

“You put a charm on him,” Jaemin reminds him, laughter in his voice. 

“Impulse,” Jeno says, looking down at his hands. “The single reason I got put into Gryffindor.” It comes out a little self-pitying and very self-loathing, and Jeno regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. 

“Jeno,” Jaemin chides gently. “That’s not it. You’re daring, and courageous, and brave—” 

“I’m not,” Jeno cuts in. It comes out louder than he expected, and Jaemin startles into silence. “I’m not,” Jeno repeats, softer. “I couldn’t even—” He stops, takes a sharp breath. 

“Couldn’t what?” 

“I’ve never kissed anybody,” Jeno says in a rush, squeezing his eyes shut. “And I know it’s fine. But I didn’t want to seem like—” 

“You don’t seem like anything,” Jaemin interrupts fiercely. “I _know_ you, Jeno Lee. I’d never—I hope you know that I’d never think—” 

“No, I know,” Jeno hurries out. He looks up, meets Jaemin’s eyes for a half-second, and then looks back down. The air between them continues to heat, and the silence around them is deafening. 

There’s a gentle touch at the back of his neck, against the chain of the necklace Jaemin had given Jeno for Christmas. “You’re wearing it.” 

Jeno lifts the ring between his fingers, the French engraved into silver band. “It was warm non-stop during all my exams.” 

Jaemin’s hand slides from the back of his neck to under his chin, and their gazes connect. Jeno feels like he’s free-falling, the ground beneath his feet gone. Jaemin’s fingers are warm, and his mouth is slightly quirked. Something searing and purposeful passes between them, and when Jaemin leans in to kiss him, it is with aching tenderness.

Jeno has a brief thought about how weird it feels—someone _else’s_ lips on _his,_ strange, warm and alive—before Jaemin pulls back, still cradling Jeno’s face. He looks worried, and searches Jeno’s face for something, a furrow forming between his eyebrows. 

“Was that—was that okay?” Jaemin asks. 

Jeno touches his mouth, and tries to keep his brain from floating out of his body. “Yeah?” _Do it again,_ he silently demands, but can’t find the words to say it. 

Jaemin, fortunately, seems to hear him, and leans back in, still slow, still careful. Jeno is ready for it this time—or as ready as he can be, since it’s _Jaemin Na,_ half-Veela, gorgeous, unstoppable, kissing him with _that_ mouth—and meets Jaemin halfway. 

Jaemin’s thumbs come up to brush against his cheeks, and Jeno leans into him, soaking in the warmth of his body and the taste of his mouth, smoky-sweet. Jaemin tilts his head a bit, and then there’s his tongue, prodding gently at the seam of Jeno’s lips. _That’s_ something he’s not expecting, and Jeno jerks back, clipping Jaemin in the forehead with his chin. 

“Shit, sorry,” Jeno says quickly as Jaemin claps a hand to his forehead. 

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Jaemin says, sitting back against Jeno’s pillows. He lowers his hands, and for a moment, they just stare at each other, pink-mouthed and standing on the edge of a precipice they’re not sure they want to jump off of.

“What…where do we go?” Jeno asks unsurely. “Do you—I mean, should we—?” 

_Is this an appropriate time to confess?_ Jeno wonders as he watches Jaemin, for the first time since Jeno’s known him, struggle to find words. 

Luckily, both of them are saved from having to come up with a response, because there’s a massive crash from the common room and Donghyuck comes sprinting up the stairs, breathless with laughter. “Jeno, put a shirt on, you have to come see this,” he says, hands on his knees. Then he catches sight of Jaemin, and realizes they’re on Jeno’s bed. 

Donghyuck’s eyes narrow, and Jaemin practically Disapparates off the bed, he moves so quickly. “I’ll see you both downstairs,” he says, and looks almost… _relieved._

“What happened?” Donghyuck asks slowly, and Jeno gets the feeling that he already knows. 

“Nothing,” Jeno says, a bit too quickly. “Don’t tell Renjun,” he adds, because if Renjun gets wind of it, he’ll tell Jisung and then Jeno will _never_ hear the end of it. And then, because Jaemin’s face and the whole awkwardness following the kiss has got Jeno overthinking, he says, “What if Jaemin doesn’t want me to confess?” 

“Whoa, _what?_ ” Donghyuck says, completely blindsided. “What makes you say that?” 

Jeno puts his head in his hands, regretting his whole existence and the very day Jaemin walked into the Great Hall in his Beauxbatons uniform, Veela magic out in full force. “No reason. I’m probably just being dumb.” 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, drawing the word out in disbelief. “Let me know if you want to talk about it. Now get downstairs—Sai Chadha just got dumped and he’s _monologuing._ ” 

Jeno gives Donghyuck a halfhearted wave, and lets him disappear back down the stairs to the common room. But all he can think about for the rest of the day and for the entirety of the train ride home for spring break is Jaemin’s face—the hesitation, the awkwardness. The relief Jeno had seen when he’d left the room. 

“Maybe he’s just unsure,” his mother says as she opens the oven to check on the lamb roast his dad has made for Easter. “You haven’t talked about it yet. It’s natural.” 

“Dunno,” Jeno says sullenly, picking at the jumper she’s crammed him into. It’s too small and itchy. “What if he doesn’t fancy me? I mean, like, what if _I_ think I’m ready to date but he doesn’t want to?” 

“Oh, love,” his mother sighs, crossing the kitchen and taking the seat next to him at the dining room table. She clicks her tongue sympathetically, and he leans towards her, setting his head on her shoulder. She runs a soothing hand through his hair. “I wish I had more helpful answers.” 

“What do you think, though?” Jeno asks, hoping that her mom-sense is picking up something he’s missing. “I’m awful at this stuff.” 

“What’re you awful at?” Rie asks, barging into the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand. “Emotions? Because that’s both a boy thing and a Lee family special.” 

“Oh, Rie, be nice,” their mother chides, and Rie scoffs, plunking down in the chair across from them. 

“Is this about the pretty boy?” At Jeno’s woeful nod, Rie purses her lips. “Yeah, he’ll break your heart.” 

Jeno groans. That’s not what he wanted to hear. 

“Rie,” their mother says again, sounding exhausted. “Listen to me, love. You won’t know anything until you ask.” 

“I don’t know how.” 

Rie snorts. “Yep, that’s a boy thing.” 

“Shut up,” Jeno tells her, crossing his arms. “You’re one to talk. You didn’t even know that one girl fancied you until she _proposed_ to you!” 

“Okay, that’s different—” 

“How is that different?” Jeno asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Rie opens her mouth, and when she can’t find an argument, slams her empty wine glass down onto the table. “Fine, you little shit. It’s a Lee thing. You still lose, though.” 

“Who lost? Is the match over?” Junwoo asks, poking his head into the kitchen. 

“No, we’re just talking about Jeno’s love life.” 

Junwoo’s eyebrows immediately raise. “He’s got one now?” 

“Nice,” Rie snickers, and Junwoo slaps her outstretched hand without looking. Jeno puts his head in his hands, feeling more hopeless but also much better at the same time. 

“Mom,” he mumbles, serious. “What do I do?” 

“You’ve got to do what’s best for you, love,” his mother says. “You’ve got to tell him. You’re not built to keep it all in. That’s another Lee thing.” 

“I’m afraid,” he whispers.

“That’s alright,” his mother says. “That’s part of loving someone.” She pats him on the back. “Now perk up and come help me with the potatoes.” 

_Loving someone,_ Jeno thinks to himself as she stands and harasses the twins into setting the table outside, since the sun is out.

Jaemin’s ring is a steady warmth under Jeno’s shirt, reminding him of Jaemin’s smile, his eyes, his hair in the light, the shape of his mouth. The way he’d kissed Jeno, the sound of his laugh. 

_Oh,_ Jeno thinks, feeling very small and scared. _Yeah. I suppose I_ do _need to tell him that._

* * *

“I’ll tell him him after Quidditch is done,” Jeno assures Donghyuck when they’re all back in the castle, and school has once again picked up its frantic, breakneck pace. He hasn’t seen Jaemin yet, which is a little worrisome—they’d been nearly inseparable after winter break, all the way leading up to…the kiss. 

_The kiss._ He groans, setting his forehead down against the edge of the table. That must’ve fucked everything up. Jaemin must’ve sensed what Jeno was going to say, and it must’ve scared him off. 

“If only he wasn’t so damn hard to read,” Jeno mumbles into the table. 

“If only who wasn’t what?” Renjun asks without looking up from his essay. 

“Nothing,” Jeno says. 

“He’s moping because him and Jaemin kissed and now Jaemin is ignoring him,” Jisung tells Renjun, nonchalant. “Or, at least, Jeno _thinks_ Jaemin is ignoring him. I bet he’s having a breakdown, same as Jeno.” 

“Oh, you two kissed?” Chenle asks, putting down his quill. “How was it?” 

“Weird,” Jeno answers. 

His friends wait. 

“Nice,” he adds, face heating, and there’s some whistling and cheering that rises up amongst them. “Shut it. You asked. But he pretty much vanished on me, and I’ve no idea where he is now.” 

“Ask around,” Chenle advises. “It sounds like you guys just need a heart-to-heart.” 

“Hunt him down and get the answers from him,” Jisung says, nodding. “You deserve an explanation for why he’s being shifty.” 

“I think you should kiss him again,” Donghyuck chimes in, folding his practice exam into a paper airplane. “ _That’s_ how you’ll know.” 

“I’m sure there’s a reason,” Renjun reassures. “But yes, I think you should talk to him.” 

“If he breaks your heart I’ll—” Donghyuck makes a violent gesture. 

“Hyuck,” Chenle says, shocked. “He’s your friend.” 

“Yeah, but Jeno’s my _best friend_ ,” Donghyuck points out. “My Gryffindor ride-or-die. We’re going all the way, right, Jeno?” 

“To the very end,” Jeno agrees, and slaps Donghyuck’s outstretched hands. 

“How did we go from a romantic crisis to Quidditch?” Renjun wonders, looking disappointed in the both of them. “You’re both the _worst._ ” 

“Hey, speaking of Quidditch,” Donghyuck says, propping his feet up on the table, “we’ve got to run through offensive fouls with Jason and Mia, or Ravenclaw is going to win through penalty goals.” 

“I didn’t know there were fouls in Quidditch,” Jisung says, sounding curious. “Can’t you just swing your bat and fly into people?” 

“ _Your_ House does that,” Jeno points out, “because Slytherins will win using _any means necessary._ ” 

“Oh, right, because you lot are so noble and rule-following,” Renjun scoffs. “Donghyuck hexed someone the other day because they called Chenle a mean name.” 

“Yeah, but we’re not _cheaters,_ ” Donghyuck fires back, crossing his arms. 

“You want to win as much as we do,” Jisung retorts. “You just go headfirst, with as much energy and aggression as you can.” 

“For the record, it was a really mean name,” Chenle jumps in, frowning. “And I think it’s great that Gryffindors stand up for their friends.” 

“So do Slytherins,” Renjun says, looking over to Jeno for some reason. “Just in different ways.” 

“Why are you looking at me?” Jeno asks, holding his hands up. 

“It’s because he thinks Jaemin’s a Slytherin,” Chenle supplies helpfully. “And you should hear what _he_ says about you when you’re not around.” 

Renjun reaches over and whacks Chenle on the back of the head. “You weren’t supposed to tell him that!” 

Chenle, arms clamped protectively around his head, smiles at Jeno. “You have to go find him, Jeno. I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.” 

“Go now,” Donghyuck urges, and Jeno, on the same wavelength, begins to pack up. “He should be with his French friends in the Great Hall. They eat dinner late.” 

“I didn’t mean now,” Chenle hurriedly modifies as Jeno shoves parchment and quills into his bag. 

“No, dinner’s a good opportunity,” Renjun says, hand still raised to whack Renjun. “His friends will keep him honest.” 

“And there’ll be nowhere to run,” Jisung adds. 

Convinced and reassured, Jeno shoulders his bag and heads out of the library, a chorus of _good luck_ s sounding behind him. Anticipation mounts as he goes down the stairs, taking a shortcut down a narrow spiral staircase to bypass the after-dinner rush in the main hallway. The Beauxbatons students—most of them, at least—are indeed still eating dinner, spread out at the Ravenclaw table, their plates loaded with an impressive combination of food. French (and some Dutch, maybe?) rises from the knot of students, floating over Jeno. 

The conversation falters as he approaches—he knows a couple of them by name, and recognizes most of their faces. A few of them say hello, and Jeno spends a minute exchanging pleasantries. 

“Are you looking for Jaemin?” A handsome boy with dark hair asks. “He just left, if so.” 

“Oh,” Jeno says, trying not to sound too disappointed. “D’you know where he went?” 

A glance is exchanged between a couple of people. A girl asks something in French under her breath. The dark-haired boy shakes his head. 

“He went to bed,” the boy says at last. “He’s not feeling too well. I think he caught the…flu, do you say?” 

“Oh, really?” Jeno asks, not sure if he’s being lied to, or if Jaemin really _is_ sick. Worry churns in his stomach anyway. “Why didn’t he—is he alright? Will he be in class?” 

“He is taking medicine,” the boy says. “So we shall see. I will tell him you were looking for him, hm? And then perhaps, when he is not so sick, you can talk.” 

“Okay,” Jeno says, getting the feeling this is about as much as he’s going to get. “I can’t go see him?” 

Another glance, some more murmured French. One girl’s eyes go wide, and Jeno turns to see what she’s looking at: Jaemin, frozen in the doorway of the Great Hall, looking very healthy and well. 

Jeno turns back to the boy, who looks sheepish. “Really?” He asks, annoyed. “You could’ve just said he didn’t want to see me.” 

“I—that’s not it,” the boy says, as Jaemin comes striding over, frowning. He asks something in French to the whole group, but nobody responds. He puts a hand on Jeno’s lower back, the contact sending sparks shivering up Jeno’s spine, and asks again. 

The air wavers a little with the magic Jaemin has put into the question. Jeno leans into his touch just a little more, because he _can,_ and if Jaemin is standing here getting angry at his friends and pulling Jeno close then he _can’t_ be mad, can he?

“ _Je suis désolé,_ ” the dark-haired boy says after a long moment, then a long rush of very fast-paced French that Jeno has no hope of understanding. Jaemin is still frowning, on the verge of pouting, and Jeno carefully steps closer to him. 

“Come on, Jeno,” Jaemin finally says, giving his classmates one last glance. “Let’s go talk.” 

The backs of their hands brush as they make their way back out the Great Hall. “I’m sorry,” Jaemin starts when they’re in a quiet corner, out of sight. “My friends were being really shitty. And I was…I was being insecure.” 

“You—” Jeno starts, surprised. Out of everything he was expecting to hear, _insecure_ was not one of them. How can Jaemin, beautiful and effervescent and glowing, feel _insecure?_

“Shh,” Jaemin says, pressing a gentle finger to Jeno’s lips. “Let me finish?” 

“Okay,” Jeno says, but grabs Jaemin’s hand before he can fully pull away. “I’m listening.” 

Jaemin gives Jeno a shy, nervous smile. “So when—well, when we kissed, I thought—you jerked away so quickly. And I jumped to conclusions, and my friends basically convinced me that it was a sign you didn’t…want me.” He cringes at the wording, clearly embarrassed. “I should’ve just talked to you. I’m sorry I avoided you. I have a tendency to run away from things.” He lets out a long breath, and peeks at Jeno’s expression, waiting for a reaction. 

“What,” Jeno says blankly, mind spinning. “You thought I didn’t—?” 

“I know, I know, it’s stupid,” Jaemin mumbles, covering his face with his free hand. 

“Jaemin, I’ve been obvious since the _start,_ ” Jeno says, amazed at the complete and utter stupidity of the whole situation. “You walked into the Great Hall and I fancied you from that first _second._ You showed off in that first D.A.D.A class and I about confessed right then and there—” 

“Yes, I get it, I get it,” Jaemin interrupts, cheeks bright pink. He’s pouting, and Jeno is torn between exasperation and affection. “I’m just not used to it. You’re so _genuine,_ Jeno Lee. Almost too good to be true.” 

“Bloody hell,” Jeno says, feeling like he’s in a dream. He laughs, disbelieving, and takes Jaemin’s face in his hands. “I like you _so_ much, Jaemin. You should—I thought you knew.” 

“I sort of did,” Jaemin says, laughing too. “You’re not terribly subtle.” 

“I never tried to be.” 

Jaemin is still laughing when Jeno leans in to kiss him, sweet and short. Outside, rain begins to gently tap at the window, shaking the budding leaves on the trees. 

The sky outside is grey, but Jeno basks in the light of Jaemin’s smile, in the warmth of his skin, and it’s like summer has come early. 

* * *

April seems to fly by, partially because all Jeno does is play Quidditch or spend time with Jaemin. His teachers chide him for inattentiveness, poorly-done homework, to the point where Jaemin gently extracts himself from Jeno’s side and tells him to do his work or _else._

The whole school immediately finds out, of course. Jeno, who doesn’t normally doesn't like being the center of attention, finds himself not minding it as much when Jaemin walks into the Great Hall for breakfast and Jeno beams and throws an arm around him. 

In the quiet moments, alone, Jaemin kisses Jeno and puts his hands in Jeno’s pockets and they talk about little things, slow things, boring things. Jaemin in public is unreadable past his smile, his hand on Jeno’s knee under the table, but in the common room at midnight is when he opens, just a little, and Jeno can peek inside and see what he’s made of. 

“God, you’re always in such a good mood nowadays,” Jisung says, nose wrinkling. “Normally in April you’re depressed because there’s no Quidditch.” 

“That’s because Jeno’s a relationship guy,” Donghyuck says through a mouthful of food. “He’s a big cheeseball.” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s true.” 

Jeno ignores both of them, though he’s aware he’s grinning as he writes his essay. “Stop that,” Jisung whines. “It’s weird. Why are you thinking about Jaemin while doing _homework_ ? How is that _normal?_ ” 

“Where is Jaemin, anyway?” Donghyuck asks, looking around. “Didn’t he say he was going to be here?” 

Jeno looks up at the clock. It’s almost seven, fifteen minutes past when Jaemin did indeed say he was going to meet them for dinner. 

“He’s probably a little late,” Jeno says easily, waving Donghyuck off. “We can go, if you’re hungry.” 

“You mean we waited a whole extra hour for nothing?” Jisung complains. “You said he was late last time too, and I almost starved to death.” 

“Come on,” Jeno says, making a face at Jisung. “We’re going now.” 

“You’re a bit dramatic,” Donghyuck adds, to which Jisung sticks his tongue out. 

Jaemin doesn’t show up to dinner, but he does find Jeno later, sliding his hands under Jeno’s robes and rumpling his tie and his hair, kissing him until both of their mouths are pink. The torchlight casts long shadows in the hallway, which is eerily quiet. 

“Hi,” Jeno says, breathless, running an affectionate hand through Jaemin’s hair. “How are you?” 

Jaemin smiles. “Not so bad. I missed you.” 

“You saw me this morning,” Jeno laughs. Jaemin frowns, hesitating. 

“Yeah,” he says, “but, you know…not like this.” 

“What do you mean?” Jeno asks, confused. Jaemin’s expression shutters off, however, before Jeno can read him, and he pulls back, out of Jeno’s grasp. 

“Never mind,” Jaemin says, lightly. Jeno doesn’t buy it, but he also doesn’t want to push, not when all of this is so tender and new. 

“Why weren’t you at dinner?” 

“Wasn’t hungry,” Jaemin answers, still in that too-nonchalant tone. Something uncomfortable pushes at the back of Jeno’s mind, but he ignores it, opting to lean in and kiss Jaemin again, long and deep. 

“Come back with me?” Jeno asks. “I have some Butterbeer, and some of my team has been wanting to—” 

“Ah, I’m tired,” Jaemin interrupts before Jeno can finish. He runs an apologetic hand through Jeno’s hair, cupping the back of his neck. “Rain check? I’d love to meet them, just…not now.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Jeno says, and Jaemin gives him a small smile. “Go to bed early, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Mm,” Jaemin agrees. He presses his lips to Jeno’s once more, quickly, and then slips out of Jeno’s arms and into the light of hallway. “Sleep well.” 

“Night, Jaem,” Jeno says, lifting a hand in a wave. Jaemin starts to wave as well, and they both realize how ridiculous they look at the same time. Jeno laughs as Jaemin practically jogs back over to him, and they waste another five minutes pressed against the stone, Jaemin’s tongue behind Jeno’s teeth, drawing the breath from his lungs. 

“Okay, okay, you should go,” Jeno says, laughing. Jaemin mumbles something under his breath, possibly in French, and kisses under Jeno’s chin, down his neck, along the collar of his shirt. Jeno’s breath hitches, and something shifts in the air, the sweetness transforming into something headier, tension settling, thick and sultry, on both of their shoulders. “Jaemin,” Jeno warns, though he’s so breathless it’s barely audible. 

Jaemin yanks Jeno’s collar and tie down, the top button popping off. Jeno startles, grabbing Jaemin’s shoulders as he presses his mouth just below Jeno’s collarbone, lingering there for a purposeful amount of time. Long enough, Jeno knows, to leave a mark. 

“Jaemin,” he says again, weak-kneed. Jaemin pulls away, mouth shiny, and thumbs over the place his lips and tongue had been a second ago. “You—what—” 

“For you,” Jaemin says sweetly, fixing Jeno’s tie and shirt, patting his hair back into place. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Jeno says, faint. Jaemin grins, and Jeno reaches for him. Jaemin lets himself be tugged close, but only for a moment; too soon, he’s wiggling out of Jeno’s arms, stepping away and starting down the hallway. 

“I’ve got to go,” he says apologetically. “We’ve got a curfew.” When Jeno wrinkles his nose, displeased, Jaemin laughs and flicks it. “Don’t make that face. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Can’t wait,” Jeno says, and means it. “I’m absolutely mad for you, you know? Totally crazy. You’re amazing.” 

“Don’t say that in front of your friends,” Jaemin jokes. “Or they’ll get violent.” 

“It’s how they show their love,” Jeno assures him. Silence falls over them, but neither of them move, quite unwilling to leave the other. 

“Goodnight,” Jaemin says at last, voice soft. “Sleep well.” 

“You too,” Jeno replies. Jaemin gives him a final, small smile and Jeno watches as he rounds a corner and disappears from sight, shadow shrinking and vanishing. 

* * *

The spot is purple next morning. Nobody asks why Jeno spends ten minutes trying to fix the torn buttonhole on his shirt. Either they just don’t care (the most likely option) or they can guess what, exactly, had him out so late (Donghyuck does, if the smug, knowing look on his face is any indication). 

He doesn’t see Jaemin for most of the day, or the one after that. At first, it doesn’t feel weird, or off—May has begun, bringing the final two Quidditch matches and the playoffs, as well as the last stretch before the N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s. It’s a busy time for everyone, even as productivity drastically decreases as the weather grows nicer and nicer with each passing day, the sun bursting through clouds and bringing the color back into the grounds. 

“It’s almost like I can’t remember winter at all,” Donghyuck says, taking a deep breath as they head towards Herbology. “Christmas feels so long ago. You had fucked your whole body up, none of us knew if you and Jaemin were really gonna work out—” 

“Your faith in me is amazing,” Jeno deadpans. 

“—and the Quidditch finals were still a distant dream,” Donghyuck finishes, ignoring Jeno as usual. “Now they’re here. And if Hufflepuff beats Slytherin—which they will, not worried about that—then all we have to do is beat Ravenclaw to take the second spot in the playoffs.” 

“Then we fly against Hufflepuff, and win—” 

“And ride our victory into contracts with the pros,” Donghyuck finishes, and Jeno feels a strange lightness leap in his chest at the thought. Victory is _so_ close he can almost _taste_ it, summery and warm on his tongue. All the blood, sweat and tears have nearly paid off. All their hard work, the late nights in the rain—it’ll all be worth it when they hoist the trophy for the first time in five years, taking it back from Slytherin. 

“Honestly,” Donghyuck continues as they sit down at their table, sorting through their bags for their notebooks, “if we won, I could fail all my N.E.W.T.s and not care.” 

Jeno agrees wholeheartedly. “I don’t think I’ve wanted anything as much as this.” Jaemin’s face flashes in his mind. “Well, maybe I wanted to be with Jaemin this much, too. But you know what I mean.” 

“Winning Quidditch and dating Jaemin Na,” Donghyuck says wisely, nodding. “Both inherently romantic concepts.” 

Jeno smiles down at his hands, thinking about winning and then kissing Jaemin. He thinks about the Quidditch Cup, proudly displayed in the common room, and Jaemin’s there, too, arm around Jeno, keeping him safe, grounded. Jaemin is everywhere in Jeno’s thoughts, a quiet, sustained presence in every daydream, in every imagining of every future. Even the far ones, the sorts where Jeno thinks about where he’ll be a year from now, or maybe two. He doesn’t know when Jaemin appeared in those dreams, but he’s there, as sure and as steady as Jeno’s love for Quidditch. 

It’s terrifying, if he’s being honest. But it’s exciting, too, and the green-gold growth of spring only encourages it, making him think about scary adult things like _long-term_ and _I love you._

He sees Jaemin that Saturday, before the Hufflepuff-Slytherin game. They’ve split themselves in half in terms of cheering—Donghyuck and Jeno have sided with Chenle, because even if Hufflepuff is their main competitor, it’s fun to rile Jisung up. The other half (Renjun, Jisung, and Jaemin) are decked out in green, and for a brief, dizzying second, Jeno gets a look at what his life would be if Jaemin had gone to Hogwarts, if he’d put on the Sorting Hat and had taken a seat across the hall. Maybe at the tender age of eleven they would’ve made eye contact, red-to-green, and would’ve been friends. Maybe Jaemin would’ve played Quidditch, maybe they would’ve been rivals, maybe Jaemin would’ve stood up for Jeno when the older kids shoved him around and maybe Jeno would’ve walked Jaemin through fifth-year potions. Maybe Mark Lee wouldn’t have been a thing—maybe Donghyuck would’ve gone for him instead, like he always jokingly threatened to. 

Maybe by their sixth year they would’ve looked at each other a little differently, and by now, all the first years would know about Jaemin and Jeno, with their silly little inside jokes and shared dialogue, looks exchanged across classrooms or the Great Hall, knowing and teasing and indecipherable to anybody but them. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Jeno’s whole head is Jaemin. 

They walk out, shoulder-to-shoulder. Jeno wants to hold Jaemin’s hand, but they’re in his pockets, the morning a little colder than anticipated.

They join a bunch of Gryffindors in the stands, most of them wearing yellow but a few (Vivian) stubbornly dressed in red. 

“I refuse to support the enemy,” Vivian says. None of them know if she’s talking about Slytherin or Hufflepuff. Probably both. 

The game, surprisingly, is pretty long and almost evenly-matched. Hufflepuff is ahead by a goal by the time the first time-out is called, which is unexpected. 

“Do _you_ have any idea as to why Hufflepuff’s in a slump?” Donghyuck asks, leaning over to where Mia and Jason are watching, their eyes shielded against the sun. “Or why Slytherin’s suddenly good?” 

“Dunno,” Jason says. “Maybe Slytherin decided to work together for a change?” 

“THAT’S A FOUL!” Lucas Kingsbury yells as a Slytherin Beater nearly takes a Hufflepuff’s head off. “C’mon, Ref!” 

“It wasn’t purposeful!” The Slytherin Beater shouts, pointing at the Chaser. She’s tiny compared to the massive bulk of the Beater. “Why would I want to hit her? She’s twelve!” 

Madam Liete looks between both of them, and doesn’t call a foul. There’s a wave of _boo_ s from the Hufflepuff supporters, but the game resumes nevertheless. 

“That really _was_ an accident,” Lynne says, amazed. “I saw the Bludger fly right past her a split-second after. The Beater was just a little early.” 

“What the hell,” Donghyuck says, leaning forward. “What is Slytherin up to?” 

“Ooh, very devious,” Jaemin comments, and Jeno puts an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Is Quidditch always this conniving?” 

“It’s Slytherin,” Mia says. “They’re always up to something.” 

“So are Ravenclaws,” Jisung defends, crossing his arms. 

“Ravenclaws always have a _plan,_ ” Vivian clarifies. “It’s annoying when you’re trying to win.” She catches sight of Jaemin and Jeno just then, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, _wow,_ I didn’t know _this_ was a thing.”

“Wait, you’re going out? He’s your boyfriend, well and proper?” Mia asks, leaning so she can see past Vivian.

Jaemin goes a little rigid next to Jeno at the word, and his expression closes off behind a polite smile. “Well—” 

“We haven’t talked about it,” Jeno says quickly, confused. “But mostly, yeah, right? Jaem?” 

“We haven’t talked about it,” Jaemin echoes, and slowly steps away from Jeno’s side, slow enough that the only person who notices is Jeno himself. “I’ve never been a fan of labels, anyway.” 

_He’s lying,_ a tiny part of Jeno whispers. _That’s not true._

A bitter taste is rising in his throat, but he pushes past his hurt—there’s got to be an explanation, they’ve just got to talk, how can anything be wrong when Jeno’s got a _hickey_ on his collarbone and the sound of Jaemin’s laugh stuck in his head—and pastes on what he hopes is a convincing smile. “Not big on labels,” he repeats. “Right.” 

Jaemin shoots Jeno an apologetic, guilty look, and slips his hand in Jeno’s pocket, twining their fingers together. It doesn’t fix it, but it helps—some of the sting eases, though Jeno still has a very weird, ominous feeling, the kind that settles into the pit of his stomach like a brick. 

Slytherin, somehow, catches the Snitch. Jisung celebrates their only win of the season, and he and some of their friends head off to Hogsmeade. Jaemin slips away somewhere in between that, leaving Jeno with a vague promise to _talk soon_ and a searing, secretive kiss that lingers on Jeno’s mouth long after he’s gone. 

* * *

Another week passes in a blur. Jeno alternates between nervousness and excitement. Dinner is either rowdy and high-energy, gathered with the rest of his team, nearly shouting, or quiet, somber affairs where nobody eats. 

“If we lose,” Sean whispers on Thursday night, “Ravenclaw will overtake us and they’ll play Hufflepuff.” 

“But if we win,” Vivian counters on Friday, “then we not only go to the championships, but we take first place in the league.” 

The team dissolves into heated discussion about plays and Ravenclaw’s defense. Jeno picks at the croutons on his salad, feeling a bit morose. He hasn’t seen Jaemin for the whole week, _again_ —he’d been tired, he’d been busy, he’d had school things to do. Sometimes, they’ll steal minutes before bedtime, but all they really do is kiss, their conversations short and empty. Jeno misses the long hours they’d had before, misses the sound of Jaemin’s laugh and the look on his face when he’d talked about home. 

Donghyuck, like he can sense Jeno’s thoughts, says, with an air of forced nonchalance, “I haven’t seen Jaemin around lately.” 

Jeno feels his frown deepen, and his stomach twists. “Me neither.” 

“I thought you two were alright,” Donghyuck says. “No, I thought you were _great._ ” 

“Me too.” 

Donghyuck sighs, clearly displeased with Jeno’s two-syllable answers. “ _Talk_ to me, mate. What happened? D’you know?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jeno mumbles. “I try to talk to him, but he just laughs and then we—well, conversation never goes too far anymore.” 

“Maybe he got cold feet?” Donghyuck offers. 

“He likes me,” Jeno says, utterly convinced on that. “I _know_ he does. I can feel it.” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says slowly, eyeing Jeno cautiously, “but?” 

“ _But_ ,” Jeno continues emphatically, “there’s something stopping him from saying whatever he needs to. He’ll open his mouth and it’ll feel like we’re on the edge of something, and then he’ll smile and back down. I don’t get it.” 

A little furrow has formed between Donghyuck’s eyebrows. “Wow, that’s…that sucks.” 

“I know,” Jeno says, setting his fork down. A headache is building behind his eyes, and he chuckles at how tangled things have gotten in the span of a week. “I’m sorry I’m bringing you down. We’ve got a game tomorrow, and here I am, acting like a lovesick idiot.” 

“Come off it,” Donghyuck says good-naturedly, whacking Jeno on the shoulder. “Don’t be down on _yourself,_ first and foremost. That’s the worst part of this. It’s not your fault, Jeno. There are two people in a relationship.” 

“I don’t know when you got so wise,” Jeno says.

“But it’s helpful,” Donghyuck replies smugly. “You know I’m right.” 

“You’re right a lot,” Jeno says, “and it’s really getting on my nerves.” 

Donghyuck gives a half-laugh, and they fall back into easy chatter for a few more minutes. Jeno finishes his salad, and Donghyuck breaks pieces off a cookie idly, not eating so much as fidgeting. They’re all nervous, and the game looms ever-closer. A day from now, they’ll know if they’re going to the playoffs, or if Ravenclaw is. Jeno thinks about this, but he also thinks about Jaemin, and the two weigh so heavily on him that he’s not sure if he’ll sleep tonight.

“You’ve got to talk to him, you know,” Donghyuck says later, much later, when Jeno is still sitting in front of the fire, staring into the dying embers and trying to bring the fraying ends of his thoughts together. “You can’t play like this.” 

“I know,” Jeno mumbles, sinking further into the armchair, his head and eyes aching. He wants nothing more than to sleep, but his mind, already one-track and far too determined for its own good, has set itself on the familiar path of anxiety. There will be no rest for him until he exhausts himself. “Go to bed, Hyuck.” 

Donghyuck hovers for a moment longer, clearly torn between getting some sleep and making sure Jeno doesn’t self-combust. He wishes he would. He’s tired of thinking about Jaemin Na. 

Eventually, though, Donghyuck makes up his mind. He puts a hand on Jeno’s shoulder, just for a moment. “You should sleep soon.” 

“I’ll try.” 

Donghyuck gives Jeno a wan smile. “Night, Jeno.” 

“Night, Hyuck.” 

Donghyuck’s silhouette vanishes up the stairs a moment later, and then it’s just Jeno, his mind, and the dying embers of the fire. He fidgets mindlessly with the ring Jaemin had given him, trying to sort things out. 

Thoughts swim hazily in his mind. The whole Jaemin thing sits uneasily with him, and he itches to resolve it, to find out what’s been going through Jaemin’s head. They’d kissed in the alcove after dinner, after Jaemin had told Jeno that his friends had tried to convince him to stay away. Everything leading up to that had been good— _amazing,_ even. Standing and watching the snow, the New Year’s Party, the walks back to the castle in the rain. Muted conversations at midnight, whispered ones during classes, notes passed in the library. Laughing. Holding hands. The quiet knowledge that he was—

Jeno tries to stop himself right there, but it’s too late. He’s in too deep—has always been in too deep, from the very beginning. Jaemin Na had walked through those doors in Beauxbatons blue, and it had been over. He’d had no chance. He’d seen Jaemin’s face and then he’d gotten to know Jaemin’s heart, and now—

Now he’s absolutely _screwed._ Because somewhere between all the flying, Jeno Lee had fallen in love. 

* * *

Now, there’s just the matter of _telling_ Jaemin. And that starts with _finding_ him, something that has proven very difficult over the course of the last two weeks. 

Jeno is so worked up about it that he can’t even think about eating breakfast. He pulls on his sweater and pants, same as Donghyuck, but then makes an excuse about the bathroom on his way to the Great Hall, heading down the hallway towards the west wing, where guest rooms had conveniently appeared upon Beauxbatons’ arrival. He’s walking quickly, taking the stairs two at a time, sweating a little in his gear. But there is a burning thought at the forefront of his mind, a brief surge of reckless, hot-headed bravery driving him towards what he hopes will _fix_ whatever went wrong between the two of them. 

_I love you, Jaemin Na,_ he rehearses in his head. For such a simple phrase, it’s doing a fair amount of damage, having near-burned a hole in his brain. 

The castle is quiet—most people are eating breakfast, buzzing about the Quidditch game. Jeno should be among them, but this is something he has to do first. He takes another deep breath, and thinks about how Jaemin will look. Maybe they’ll talk after, too, and sort things out. Maybe Jaemin will kiss him sweetly, and wish him luck—

Voices come from an open door, and Jeno, to his great surprise, recognizes both of boys sitting inside, their backs to them. One is Renjun, wearing blue, and the second is Jaemin, still in his pajamas, his hair mussed. Jeno’s about to push the door all the way open and step in when Renjun says his name. 

“You need to tell Jeno this,” Renjun says, sounding very serious. Jeno’s stomach plummets, dread filling his veins like poison. “Not me.” 

“I want to,” Jaemin replies, and his voice is quiet. Tired. Defeated. 

Jeno desperately wants this conversation to be a fluke. To be about something small, something silly.

The set of Jaemin’s shoulders tells him it’s the opposite. 

He wants to tear himself away before he hears something truly _awful,_ but a sort of self-destructing curiosity has him pinned in place, silently hovering the doorway. 

“I just…I don’t even know if he and I are going to last,” Jaemin says, and Jeno feels like he’s going to vomit. “I look at him and I think, _I like you,_ and then immediately after, there’s the part that goes _but am I ready?_ ” 

“Mm,” Renjun says, neutral. “Are you telling me that you think you jumped into this? That you went too fast?” 

“Not too fast,” Jaemin says, heaving a deep sigh. “I just went headfirst into something, and it’s scary. Maybe I’m not ready to commit. Maybe I’ll never be ready.” 

Jeno’s heard enough, and his body moves before his mind can catch up. The door bangs against the wall. Both Jaemin and Renjun startle, and look over at him. Renjun looks surprised for a moment before it fades into sympathy. Jeno doesn’t want it, hates the way Renjun looks between them like he knows what’s going to happen. 

Jaemin’s face is pale. His eyes are wide and dark, and Jeno has never seen him look so lost. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at Jeno. 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Renjun says softly, and gets up from his chair. “See you at the game, Jeno.” 

_Right, Quidditch,_ Jeno thinks distantly over the sound of his blood roaring in his ears. _That_. 

Renjun closes the door behind him, and the space goes still and silent for a long time. Jeno’s thoughts are loud, noisy, questions begging to be asked. Tears burn the corners of his eyes; he refuses to let them fall. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and still, he _hopes._

“Did you—” His voice cracks, hoarse, and he clears his throat. He starts again. “Did you mean it?”

Jaemin can probably see everything playing out on Jeno’s face, and to his credit, he doesn’t back down. 

“I don’t know,” he says evenly, but his knuckles are white, betraying how he feels. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Did you lie?” 

“Sounds an awful lot like you’re accusing me,” Jaemin says, still in that awful even-toned voice. “Why didn’t _you_ ask?” 

Jeno flinches back. “What?” 

“You never asked me if I was okay with any of it,” Jaemin says. “You just pulled me along.” 

“I didn’t mean—” 

“No, no, of course not,” Jaemin jumps in quickly, and he looks truly apologetic. “You’re not a _mean_ person, Jeno. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” 

“Then what _are_ you saying?” Jeno asks, voice cracking again. His hands have broken out in a cold sweat, and briefly, he regrets ever stepping foot in this room. It’s one of the reading rooms, the one Jaemin has always liked because of the view of the lake and the Whomping Willow, silhouetted against the sky. 

“I don’t think I can do it,” Jaemin says after a long pause, and something in Jeno flashes red-hot, irrational and annoyed by that. “I just don’t think that’s _me._ ” 

_Coward coward coward,_ Jeno’s brain chants, scarlet and furious. He opens his mouth to reply, but Jaemin, who’s learned nearly every part of Jeno by now, even the dusty, dark corners, reads his expression. 

“I’m not trying to run away,” he says, too quickly for Jeno’s liking. 

“Yes you are,” he shoots back before he can help it, crossing his arms like he can keep his hurt inside. Everyone had _warned_ him from the beginning about boys like Jaemin, boys who couldn’t commit, boys who would go behind his back, who bow out when things get bumpy. _It’s not fair,_ a tiny, naive part of him protests. _It’s not the right thing to do._

Jaemin Na, sitting in front of him, does not give a damn about the _right thing,_ not with that expression on his face, like he’s two seconds away from blasting the living daylights out of Jeno, or sobbing. Jeno’s not sure what would be better. 

“I like you a lot,” Jaemin says, and finally, his facade is starting to crack, the pain visible in the tremble of his lips or the downcast, murky look in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Jeno replies, “and?” 

Jaemin looks up, and Jeno watches as something inside of him breaks. His shoulders sag, body collapsing inward like he wants nothing more than to fold up and disappear. “Then maybe,” Jaemin says, voice quiet and so, _so_ tired, “we shouldn’t be together.” 

The last of the fight drains of Jeno, and the hot ember of anger in his chest abruptly extinguishes. The next breath feels like Jeno’s lungs are full of glass, and his vision fractures and blurs. There is an acute, keen squeezing sensation in his chest, making it hard to stay upright. 

Jeno thinks distantly that Jaemin has finally broken his heart, just like everyone said he would. They’ve come full circle, in a way. 

“Fine,” Jeno says, and he is equally as quiet and tired. “Maybe we shouldn’t.” 

Jaemin closes his eyes, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Jeno realizes he’s about to cry, and decides that’s not something he can take. Not when Jaemin is sitting there in the grey light, heartbroken and still so beautiful. 

He staggers out of the room, breathing heavily, tears salty on his tongue. Half of him wants to sob, and the other half wants to curse and punch the wall. He does neither—can’t _afford_ to, either, because there’s still Quidditch. 

Donghyuck gives him a startled, wide-eyed look when he meets them at the entrance to the grounds. “Holy _shit,_ ” he breathes. “Renjun told me you guys—I mean, I didn’t think you’d—” He stops himself in his tracks, puts his hands on Jeno’s shoulders, and asks, “what _happened?_ ” 

“What d’you _think_ happened?” Jeno asks, brittle. He’s starting to feel a little numb, like his brain is trying to pull away from his body, away from the reality that’s just delivered a killing blow. “It’s over.” 

Donghyuck claps a hand to his mouth. “Jeno, _bloody hell,_ ” he whispers through his fingers. “ _No._ ” When Jeno just continues to stand there, his expression changes to a mixture of vengeful and sympathetic. “I’m going to—” 

“No, you’re not,” Jeno cuts in tiredly. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s _not_!” Donghyuck protests. “You look a right mess, mate.” 

“You’re right,” Jeno agrees tonelessly. “It’s not. It’s a disaster.” 

Donghyuck frowns. “You’re not supposed to _agree_ with me.” 

Jeno shrugs, and Donghyuck’s frown deepens. He looks over Jeno slowly, his worry heavy on Jeno’s shoulders. “Hey, are you sure you want to—?” 

“Yes,” Jeno cuts in before Donghyuck can finish. Quidditch is the only thing he’s hanging on to at this point, all that’s kept him from collapsing totally and letting his hurt sweep him away. 

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, dubious, but doesn’t stop him. 

It is, as expected, immensely hard to summon up the energy to look as excited as the rest of his team is. He does his best to follow Mia and Jason’s quick back-and-forth on offense technique, chimes in half-heartedly when Lynne asks about flying maneuvers, and lets Vivian clap him on the back on their way into the locker room. 

Donghyuck asks again if he’s okay. 

“I’ve _got_ to play, Hyuck,” Jeno says. “There’s nobody that can stand in for me. It’s too late.” 

“I know,” Donghyuck says, too loudly. Sean casts a curious glance in their direction, and Donghyuck steps closer. “But you can _tell_ them, Jeno, and they’ll help cover you. Don’t martyr yourself for no reason. Ask for help.” 

“They shouldn’t worry about me,” Jeno mumbles, pulling his robes over his head. The crowd outside is getting noisier with each passing second; it’ll be time to go out soon. “I’m their captain. This is a make-or-break game. I can’t—I don’t know—” 

“Hey, Captain, they’re calling for you,” Vivian says, broomstick in hand. “It’s go time.” 

Donghyuck gives Jeno one last long look. Jeno shrugs helplessly. 

The sky is grey and the ground is soggy, squelching beneath their feet. The faces of the crowd, the roar of their voices—things that normally invigorate him—seem to drain him of energy. All he can think about is Jaemin promising to sit front and center, promising him a kiss if he won. His eyes go to the spot he’d be in, if he was here. But he’s not, obviously, and instead it’s just his friends, pale-faced. They all have an idea of what happened. 

Jaemin’s heartbroken expression hits him again out of nowhere, and he stumbles a bit. Donghyuck grabs him by the back of the robes, yanking him upright, and mutters something unintelligible. Jeno shakes free of him, irked, and goes to shake hands with the Ravenclaw captain, who’s got a smug look on her face. Probably because she saw Jeno trip, or can sense that he’s in a state of emotional distress. 

Madam Liete blows the whistle, and all fourteen of them kick off the wet ground, spraying mud everywhere. Jeno’s body protests at the damp, chill air, and the battered part of him wants to land and curl up under a blanket somewhere. His eyes keep going back to the spot that Jaemin’s in, and he can’t help but wonder if Jaemin is watching now, from a window, just as broken as Jeno is— 

“ _Jeno!_ ” One of his teammates shouts, and Jeno looks up just in time to see the Quaffle headed right towards him. It’s only thanks to years of hard training and keen reflexes that he catches it, but just barely—he fumbles with it, and a Ravenclaw Beater takes the chance to whack a Bludger his way, forcing him to swerve into the carefully-laid trap the defense has set up for him. The best thing to do now would be to drop the Quaffle, or attempt a pass towards their hoop, because anything else would be a foul—

Jeno’s brain struggles to keep up with the action around him. Irritation, spurred by heartbreak and exhaustion, rises to the surface again, and he drives an elbow unnecessarily hard into one of the Ravenclaw Chasers. But he’s not a Slytherin, so there’s nothing tactful or sneaky about it—the whistle is blown a second later. 

“Foul,” Madam Liete says, wand against her throat, amplifying her voice. “Number 6, intentional violence. Penalty shot for Ravenclaw.” 

Jeno turns the Quaffle over to the Chaser, who gives him a baleful look. Jeno glares right back, picturing Jaemin’s face again. 

Donghyuck comes up next to him. “What the _hell,_ mate,” he says, scowling. “Intentional violence? _Really?_ ” 

Vivian shoots him a glare from the hoops as well. They’ve always avoided giving the other team penalty shots, because they’ve always been her weakness. Everyone _knows_ this, they’ve _agreed_ on it—turnovers, box penalties, anything else, they’ll take. But penalty shots—Jeno knows better. Vivian _knows_ he knows better, and he did it anyway. 

The Chaser takes the shot. Vivian buys the fake-out and jerks to the left, and the shot soars through the middle hoop. 

Ravenclaw has scored the first goal. 

“Ten points to Ravenclaw,” Lucas Kingsbury says. “That’s alright, though. It’s only one goal, and Gryffindor will find their groove, no worries.” 

They certainly try. Jeno can feel the rest of the team straining against him, around him, trying to cover him and knit together the widening tears in their defense and offense. Jeno throws himself into it as best he can; only, there’s not much left of him to give. His heart’s broken, his mind is somewhere else, and they begin to suffer because of it. 

Ravenclaw scores again, and again. The score is seventy-twenty when Donghyuck finally snaps and calls a time-out. 

“Jeno, you have to pull it together,” Donghyuck says as they gather in the air. Vivian is visibly upset, and Mia looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Lynne and Jason exchange glances as Jeno quietly takes a spot next to Donghyuck, who attempts to rally them. 

Madam Liete blows her whistle when their time-out is up. Jeno misses another pass, and a Ravenclaw Chaser snaps it up and flies it back down to the other end, where Vivian blocks another goal—but only barely. Jeno can see she’s tiring out. There shouldn’t be this much activity on their side, and it’s starting to wear her down. 

Donghyuck is getting frustrated with him, Jeno knows. His swings are harder, more dangerous, and gets Ravenclaw another penalty shot when he nearly knocks the Ravenclaw Seeker off her broom. They score again. 

Mia passes Jeno the Quaffle, and he tucks it under his arm, dodging a Bludger. He knows this play—knows it cold, could do it in his sleep. Jason will be on his right, and all he needs to do is draw the defense over to him, faking out the Keeper, which will leave Jason free to score— 

There’s a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. The Snitch, maybe—but it’s farther away, and almost _purple—_

Jeno’s heart leaps into his throat, and he turns to look for Jaemin. It’s reflex, habit— 

A Bludger slams into his side, knocking the wind out of him. He drops the Quaffle so he can hang onto his broom, head spinning and lungs seizing emptily. _Rookie mistake, rookie mistake,_ he thinks dizzily, stomach rolling. There’s no reason that should’ve happened if he was paying attention. If he wasn’t selfishly wrapped up in his own thoughts. 

Lucas Kingsbury is saying something as players race to the other side, leaving Jeno behind, gasping for air. Sean is a blur of scarlet, and then a second later, he’s rising into the air, his hand around the Snitch. The game is over, they’ve won, and Jeno feels awful.

“Thank god,” Lynne mutters, passing by Jeno and ignoring him entirely. 

There’s a noticeable lack of celebration as they hit the ground. Everyone pats Sean on the back, but there’s an icy stiffness in the air. Nobody really talks to Jeno, who drags his feet as they head back to the locker room. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach—he knows he messed up. If Sean hadn’t caught the Snitch, it was very likely that Jeno would’ve thrown the game. 

Donghyuck is waiting for him outside of the locker room, still in his robes. His face is unusually serious. “You really messed up, mate.” 

“I know,” Jeno says, exhaustion making his very bones feel heavy. “That’s about all I can do, apparently.”

Donghyuck looks at him for a long moment, and then something in his face softens. “At least apologize to the team, okay? We don’t have to talk about you and Jaemin now—” 

Jeno winces. “Or ever.” 

“You’ve got to at some point.” Donghyuck sighs. “Okay. Go apologize.” 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Jeno asks, shuffling forward into the locker room. 

“Because you’re pitiful,” Donghyuck informs him, lips quirking. “And it’s kind of funny, but mostly sad. I still want to kick Jaemin’s ass.” 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Jeno reminds him. “You even said that.” 

Donghyuck huffs as Jeno cautiously edges into the locker room. Only Jason is left, waving his wand distractedly at his robes to siphon the mud off of it. He looks up when they enter, his face falling a little when he sees Jeno cowering in the doorway. 

“All right, Jeno?” He asks, sounding as tired as Jeno feels. “Rough game, yeah?” 

“You don’t have to be nice to me, Jason,” Jeno says, sitting down on the edge of the bench and beginning to unlace his boots. “It was shit.” 

“Yeah, it was,” Jason agrees, mild as ever, “but I don’t think you were doing it on purpose. It wasn’t your fault, either. We’re a team, and we let you down.” 

“No,” Jeno argues. “Don’t pin this on yourself. _I_ should’ve asked you to cover my back. I could’ve at least let you know what was happening.” 

“This is all very noble and self-sacrificing,” Jisung—who’d appeared, somehow, in the middle of the conversation—says. “A truly rousing show of Gryffindor honor.” 

“What are you doing here?” Jeno asks, too worn-down to be annoyed with Jisung. 

“Renjun’s looking for you,” Jisung says, crossing his arms. “Hurry up. It’s starting to rain.” 

“I better get going too,” Jason says, standing. “You should apologize to Vivian too. She was really upset.” 

“I will,” Jeno says, even though both he and Jason know how absolutely _terrifying_ Vivian is when she gets upset—silent, red-eyed, and glowering. Jeno would much rather have her be pissed-off than _upset._ “At some point.” 

“Before the Cup,” Jason says. “Promise.” 

Jason is four years younger than Jeno, but in that moment, it feels like he’s being scolded by his older brother. It must be Jason’s face, Jeno decides. It’s the sort where his eyes are far kinder and far wiser than they should be for a thirteen-year-old. 

“I promise,” Jeno agrees. 

“Okay, great, hurry up,” Jisung says, flapping his hands. “Renjun’s waiting by the entrance.” 

Donghyuck, Jason and Jisung all walk up to the castle with him, but they leave Jeno and Renjun just inside the doors. A light, grey drizzle has started to fall, settling on the grass and leaves like mist. 

“I just wanted to ask about Jaemin,” Renjun starts unsurely. “I know you overheard—” 

“I knew you weren’t trying to take sides, Renjun,” Jeno interrupts quietly. His head is throbbing with an oncoming headache. All he wants to do is lie down in his bed and not think for a few hours. Or a few days. Honestly, the longer the better. “You’re Jaemin’s friend too.” 

“I’m sorry it turned out like this,” Renjun says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his feet. “For the record, I really thought you two were going to get it figured out.” 

Hot, prickly tears gather in the corners of Jeno’s eyes at the words, sudden and unexpected. “You did?” He croaks, voice thick. “Really?” 

“Really,” Renjun agrees. “I still do. Everyone does.” 

“I don’t think I can,” Jeno admits, thinking about the throbbing mess of glass in his chest, oozing hurt and filling his lungs with sand. 

“It’s okay.” 

“I don’t want you to stop being friends with Jaemin.” 

“It’s _okay_ ,” Renjun repeats. “It’ll get figured out. I have faith.” 

_I don’t,_ Jeno wants to say, but doesn’t. He almost laughs at the irony of the situation, at how their roles have reversed—Renjun’s cool-minded rationalism has been replaced with the steady, assured flame of optimism, the same sort that Jeno harbored for so long. 

“I just want to sleep, mate,” he admits honestly. “I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Right, of course,” Renjun agrees, stepping back. “I won’t keep you.” 

Jeno nods once, and starts his way towards the Gryffindor Tower. 

“Jeno,” Renjun calls after him, hesitant. Jeno pauses, turns, and meets Renjun’s eyes, his gaze unusually troubled. “If you need to talk to someone, I’m here. We’re all here.” 

The words offer a tiny spark of warmth in the cold hollow of Jeno’s chest. “Okay. Thanks,” he says, and tries to mean it. 

* * *

Donghyuck gives Jeno a week to pull himself together. 

“Listen, it’s important that you do what you need to do,” he tells Jeno Sunday night, after Jeno had failed to show up for dinner, opting to stay in bed. “But we _need_ you for this game.” 

_Me,_ Jeno thinks miserably. _What good is a captain who almost threw a game?_

Hufflepuff’s original lineup is finally back intact. Jeno overhears Lynne and Mia’s hushed conversation about it, about the strength of their Beaters and the way their Chasers seem to share one mind. Each player is an extension of the next. 

“They’re so solid,” Lynne says, and Jeno pauses, hovering in the doorway, out of sight. “And we’re not.” 

“Go easy on him,” Mia replies, and they don’t need to say his name for Jeno know they’re talking about him. “He’s having a rough go. You know about him and Jaemin Na?” 

“He should’ve seen it coming,” a third girl mutters. One of Mia’s friends, Jeno thinks, frowning. He doesn’t like where she’s going. “A boy like that? He was _asking_ for his heart to get broken. You know how half-Veela are—they can’t settle down. I bet he’s incapable of being _genuine,_ you know? With all that magic and all.” 

Jeno takes a half-step out of the doorway without thinking, ready to step in. He catches himself at the last second and forces a deep breath through his nose; there’s no point. Hearing them badmouth Jaemin is infuriating, even now—especially because they’re _lies,_ and Jeno _knows_ this—but trying to defend him will just hurt more. 

“You’re just jealous because he’s more fit than you are,” Mia interrupts. “Besides, I think he and Jeno _really_ had something.” 

“Don’t be a fucking bitch, either way,” Lynne adds, and Jeno’s heart squeezes weakly with affection. “None of us know Jaemin.” 

“Yeah, but I _see_ him,” the unknown girl says sulkily. “Lynne, I thought you were pissed at him, anyway.” 

“I am,” Lynne says, “but I can be mad at Jeno without _judging_ the people he dated.” 

Mia sighs. “Both of you, come on. There’s no point in arguing, and we’re going to be late for Potions if we don’t hurry.” 

Their voices start to fade, and Jeno steps out from behind the doorway. Lynne looks back over her shoulder, and the look on her face tells Jeno that she knew he was there the whole time. 

_Thank you_ , Jeno mouths at her. Lynne shrugs, expression unreadable, and disappears around the corner with her friends. 

His grey mood is slightly lifted during Transfiguration, but it doesn’t last. He’s back to moping by the time Quidditch practice rolls around, which he skips. He’s being a coward, and Donghyuck tells him that, shouted through the door of the bathroom Jeno’s locked himself in. But he doesn’t want to face his team; doesn’t want to have to look them in the eyes and see their disappointment, their anger, their hurt. He failed them, and a piece of him has crumpled. 

Wednesday comes. Jeno keeps his head down, brooding and silent. He’s aware of his friends’ growing frustration with his unwillingness to even _talk_ about it, so he shuts himself up in his room during his free period and naps. Jaemin’s ring hums warmly against Jeno’s chest. It makes his stomach twist, but he can’t bring himself to take it off.

It’s that afternoon that he sees Jaemin for the first time since they fought, and it is just as acutely painful as he expected. There’s a glassy look to his eyes, and his hair is uncombed, tie rumpled and untucked. Like he can sense Jeno’s gaze on him, he looks up, and Jeno chokes on his tea. Purple half-moons are stamped into the pale, papery skin under Jaemin’s lashes, and there’s a fragile way about him that makes Jeno’s bruised heart squeeze. Something flickers across Jaemin’s face, too quickly for Jeno to decipher, and then his eyes drop. The moment passes, and Jeno feels the bitter tang of regret in the back of his throat. 

Thursday morning arrives, and Professor Zhao corners Jeno in the hall to tell him that he cannot skip another class, not with the N.E.W.T.s so close. So he reluctantly follows her to the classroom, dreading the moment when he sits down next to Jaemin, who ends up coming in late. His presence is like a wall of ice, unbreachable. When the bell rings, Jeno springs from his seat like he’s been electrocuted, nearly sprinting from the classroom before he has to meet Jaemin’s eyes again and face what they’ve both become. 

On Friday, Donghyuck cancels practice so they can all eat and rest well for the game tomorrow. The mood at the table is gloomy, and most of the team avoids looking at Jeno. Hufflepuff, on the other hand, is already immersed in celebration—their first-string players are back, the captain of the opposing team is messed up, and victory feels almost guaranteed. 

Jeno feels sick to his stomach. However this year was supposed to turn out, it certainly wasn’t like this—not with him sitting silent and heartbroken at his House table, his team mad, the boy he loves closed-off and frosty. Quidditch was never supposed to make him feel nauseated, wrung-out and worn-down like an old rag. 

It is times like these that he wishes owl post was faster. He wishes he could call his mother, Rie, Jun. Someone to pull him out of his own head and shake some sense back into him. 

Instead, he’s alone. 

He stands up. “I’m going to bed,” he says quietly. Nobody acknowledges him, not even Donghyuck. _He’s probably fed-up by now_ , Jeno thinks, self-pitying. _I ruined Quidditch for everyone._

Donghyuck still doesn’t say much, even as the night draws to a close and he’s getting ready to sleep. Jeno shuts his eyes, tries to still his breathing, hopes that maybe Donghyuck will just leave it, let him be, believe that Jeno’s asleep, and there’s nothing to be done. 

“I know you’re awake, Jeno,” Donghyuck says, and there’s a menacing quality to his voice. “You’re not getting away with this.” 

“Why are you so confrontational,” Jeno mutters, pushing back his blankets and sitting up. “What do you want?” he asks, louder. He knows he’s being brusque, but he’s been at the end of his patience these days, his energy levels so low he can’t muster up the effort to try to be polite. 

“We’re going to win tomorrow,” Donghyuck says, crossing his arms. “I refuse to let you destroy your own dream because you feel bad for yourself.” 

Jeno scowls, trying to hide how much that particular bit of truth hurt. “I’m not destroying my dream.” 

“You are,” Donghyuck insists, and sets his jaw. “I’ve known you for seven years, mate.” 

“Sod off,” Jeno mumbles, but Donghyuck doesn’t give up, striding across the room and stopping Jeno from crawling under his blankets again.

“You have to talk to him.” 

“No.” Jeno’s answer is short, firm, and decisive. “I’m not going to.” 

Donghyuck glares. “You _have_ to. I was talking to Renjun, and—” 

“I know what Renjun thinks,” Jeno says, “and I don’t agree.” 

“But you _saw_ Jaemin,” Donghyuck insists. “And if _I_ can tell he’s hurting just as much as you, then you must see it too.” 

“He’ll get over it.” 

“Yeah, and so will you,” Donghyuck says. He’s still not letting Jeno escape, even as this conversation inches closer and closer to a terrifying, awkward truth Jeno’s not sure he wants to admit aloud. “But you don’t _have_ to. I really think you two can fix this.” 

Jeno falls silent, and casts his eyes down. Donghyuck reads something on his face, because Jeno’s always been an open book, even to those who don’t know him. “Jeno? What are you not telling me?” 

“Nothing,” Jeno says. Donghyuck, like always, knows he’s right, so he waits. “I’m scared.” 

Donghyuck waits some more. 

“Because I fancy him,” Jeno continues, cheeks heating. “Because I…love him. And I can’t go to him with that and expect that he’ll somehow change his mind. It’s not fair to him, Hyuck.” He pauses, and decides he might as well throw it all out there, since Donghyuck has suddenly decided it’s time for feelings. Much to both Jeno’s chagrin and discomfort. “And I can’t…I don’t want to get hurt again.” 

“A-ha,” Donghyuck says, matter-of-fact. “There it is. That’s what I was looking for.” 

Jeno groans and shoves Donghyuck away. “Sod _off,_ Hyuck. Honestly, you should probably just replace me with one of the reserve Chasers—” 

“ _No_ ,” Donghyuck half-shouts, lunging forward. Jeno scrambles backwards off of his bed, and Donghyuck barely misses him. “You’re scared, Jeno, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a coward.” He launches over Jeno’s bed, and Jeno backpedals, desperately trying to stay out of reach. 

“I’m going to throw the game again,” he says, “so honestly, if you lot want to _win_ —” 

“Shut up, shut up,” Donghyuck chants, scowling. “Now you’re just being an asshole on purpose.” 

Jeno tries to make a break for the door, but Donghyuck beats him to it, flinging himself against the doorframe, arms outspread. “You’re not running away,” he says, slightly-out-of-breath. “You’re wearing yourself out, Jeno.” 

Jeno crosses his arms. He doesn’t say anything because he knows that Donghyuck’s right, and it pisses him off. 

“Fine,” Donghyuck says as Jeno’s silence continues. “Don’t talk to him, then. Ignore me, and Renjun. We don’t care. What if I told you that Chenle’s worried about you, though? Because you’ve been ignoring him too?” 

Jeno squeezes his hands into fists, fighting back his guilt. “I…didn’t mean to.” 

“Tell him that,” Donghyuck says. “Jisung, too. They’re in fifth-year Transfiguration classroom. That’s why I came here, you know. Not to beat you up. Just to tell you to go see them.” 

“You could’ve started with that,” Jeno says, rubbing his temples. “Are you gonna stay off my back?” 

Donghyuck, uncharacteristically, raises his hands in surrender. “I said my bit,” he says, face neutral. “I’m not going to force you into anything. Even if it _is_ for the best—” 

“Hyuck—” 

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” Donghyuck says. He makes a shooing motion. “Go.” 

Jeno feels like he should apologize, even though he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He just gets the feeling Donghyuck is disappointed in him. 

The castle is quiet and dim as he makes his way to the Transfiguration classroom. Chenle is standing outside, scrolling through his phone. Jeno remembers that he and Jisung like it here because the Wi-Fi is good. He looks up when Jisung approaches, and for some reason, smiles. 

“You’re not mad at me?” Jeno blurts before he can help it. 

“No,” Chenle says, still smiling. “I get it, honestly. He’s a different story, though.” He jerks a thumb at the door. 

“Jisung?” Jeno asks, opening the door. But it’s not Jisung standing near the chalkboard—it’s _Jaemin,_ whose face goes white when he sees Jeno. 

“Shit,” Jeno says, and turns around to leave. But Jisung has materialized out of nowhere, and he gives Jeno a shit-eating grin before slamming the door shut. 

“ _Colloportus,_ ” comes Jisung’s voice from the other side, and the door locks. 

Jeno bangs on the door, feeling betrayed but mostly incredibly stupid. “Hey!” 

“We’ll be back in thirty minutes,” Chenle says, sounding apologetic. “Sorry. It was mostly Hyuck and Rejun’s idea.” 

_Of course it was,_ Jeno thinks. He sighs and begins patting his pockets, looking for his wand. “You know I’m just going to unlock the door—” His hands still when he realizes he’s in his pajamas and a hoodie, and his wand is sitting uselessly on his bedside table. 

He turns to Jaemin, eyes wide. “Do _you_ have your wand?” 

Jaemin gestures helplessly at himself. He’s in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, hair messy against his forehead. 

He can hear Jisung laughing at them. “See you later,” he says. 

“Wait,” Jeno tries, desperate, but Jisung and Chenle’s footsteps fade, and silence falls over the classroom once again. Jaemin glances over at the windows, like he’s debating tossing a desk or chair at it and then jumping through it. 

“The windows are probably Charmed to be shatter-proof,” Jeno says awkwardly. Jaemin startles at the sound of his voice, and Jeno feels the back of his neck warm. 

“Let’s just sit and wait, then,” Jaemin says quietly, and Jeno aches at the sound of it. Every part of him still yearns to be near him, heartbreak having done nothing to change the way Jeno feels about it. 

One of the windows is cracked open, and the breeze that drifts through it is mild. Jeno watches the leaves on the trees outside sway lazily as he and Jaemin sit on opposite sides of the classroom, something invisible and insurmountable separating them. 

He is so, so tired. Of all of this. Having Jaemin this near isn’t helping, either—the raw part of his heart is throbbing, worn-out and spent. He knows Jaemin will say something, though, because he’s never been one for awkwardness, or silences. Which means the question isn’t _will Jaemin say something?_ but rather _how much will it hurt?_

He needs new friends. He doesn’t want to have to do this. The ring on its silver chain is out from beneath his shirt, and it’s warm against his fingers. 

“It was bad,” Jaemin says at last, so softly Jeno has to strain to hear him. “How it ended. We should’ve done better.” 

Jeno swallows back the bitterness that rises in his throat. “We shouldn’t have started anything at all.” 

Jaemin hesitates, and Jeno can feel his hurt. “Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t mean…” 

“Yeah,” Jaemin says, and they lapse back into awkward silence. The wall between them thickens, and Jeno puts his head in his hands. They don’t talk for the rest of the time. 

A while later, there’s a knock on the door, and then there’s a muttered _Alohomora_. Both Jaemin and Jeno look up to see Chenle standing in the doorway. 

“You didn’t talk?” he asks, reading the space between the two of them with a fair amount of disappointment. 

“Locking two people in a room only works in movies, Chenle,” Jaemin says. Chenle frowns, pouting, and looks over at Jeno. 

“You’re really going to tell Donghyuck to put one of the reserve Chasers in?” he asks. 

Jeno opens his mouth to reply, but Jaemin bolts to his feet so quickly he knocks his chair over. “ _No_ ,” he says loudly, heated, and Jeno looks over at him, startled. This is the most life he’s seen in Jaemin’s face in a while. “Jeno, _no_ , you can’t.” 

Jeno quickly gathers his wits, crossing his arms and getting to his feet. “I almost _threw_ the last game, Jaemin. If we want to win on Saturday, I shouldn’t play.” 

“Jeno, you _love_ Quidditch,” Jaemin insists, nearly shouting. “Don’t throw that away because of me.” 

“I can’t help it,” Jeno replies, and something ruptures inside of him, voice cracking, “because I also love _you_.” 

The confession tears itself out of him, raw and painful, leaving his chest heaving and his cheeks hot. He’s too tired to keep it all in, not when every part of him demands catharsis, violent and shatteringly honest. 

Jaemin is frozen in place, two spots of pink sitting high on his cheeks. His mouth is partially open, and he blinks at Jeno slowly. Jeno uncrosses his arms, suddenly void of all energy, and slumps against the wall. His eyes are itchy and his skin feels too tight, and he just wants this all to be over. “I was going to tell you, earlier,” he says, heaving a massive breath. “Now you know.” 

Behind them, Chenle goes, “I’ll give you a minute.” 

The door clicks shut, and the silence is deafening. Jaemin’s eyes are glassy, and he takes a shaky, half-step closer to Jeno. 

“I lied,” Jaemin says, a mere whisper. “That time, in the study room. I lied.” 

Jeno’s heart stops. He lifts his head, struggling to process what’s happening. “You—what?” 

“I said I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready,” Jaemin continues, sniffing and scrubbing at his eyes. Still he pushes on. “I said I didn’t think I could do it. I made all these excuses, and—” 

Jeno barely dares to breathe. The pain is heavy, the heartbreak is acute, and still, hope flutters weakly under the weight of it, rekindled by the vulnerable, aching look on Jaemin’s face. “And?” 

“And you were right,” Jaemin says weakly. “I was running away. I’ve never—never liked anyone was much as I like you. Love you. I don’t know.” He laughs wetly. “I know it’s shit, probably, to hear this now, after everything, and I get if you just want to—” 

He stops here, collecting himself. Jeno wants to go to him, but finds himself frozen in place still. Jaemin takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I was always afraid of being with you,” Jaemin says, “because I didn’t believe that I deserved it.” 

And with that, he bursts into tears. Great, body-wracking sobs that consume his whole frame, folding him in half and threatening to tear him apart. It’s ugly, and this time, Jeno doesn’t leave. 

He’s shaking just as much as Jaemin is, maybe a little more—but Jeno swallows his fear and summons up every inch of bravery he’s got. 

He reaches out. Jaemin is warm, and he collapses against Jeno without any hesitation. His face is wet, sticky against Jeno’s neck, and his tears soak into Jeno’s hoodie, and still, Jeno holds onto him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaemin says, hands curling around Jeno’s waist, a perfect fit. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” Jeno says, because he knows he isn’t blameless. Far from it, in fact. He’s got a lot of apologizing, a lot of making up to do. “I was an asshole.” 

“I’m sorry for shutting you out,” Jaemin says thickly.

“I’m sorry for letting you,” Jeno answers. “I did my fair share of running away, too.” 

“Guess we weren’t so fair to each other, were we?” 

Jeno laughs, aching and little hollow. But warm. So warm. “Maybe not.” 

Jaemin’s face is puffy and red when he pulls back to look at Jeno. For once, Jeno isn’t overwhelmed, seeing it, and something in him is grateful that Jaemin looks just as awful as everyone else when he cries. His eyes find the ring, resting against Jeno’s hoodie. He picks it up carefully, looking between it and Jeno. 

“You still wear it,” Jaemin says, voice thick. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to take it off, even after…all of it,” Jeno says. 

“It’s warm,” Jaemin observes, and his lip begins to tremble. “I’m sorry.” 

“You do deserve it, for the record,” Jeno says softly, and tentatively reaches out. Jaemin offers him a watery smile, and leans his cheek against Jeno’s outstretched palm. “I just thought you didn’t want to be with me. Or that I liked you way more than you liked me.” 

Guilt flickers over Jaemin’s face, but he doesn’t hide it. There are no more masks between them. “I convinced myself I didn’t deserve it. Any of it,” Jaemin says, “and then instead of talking about it, I tried to end it.” 

“That was shit,” Jeno says. “Please just talk to me next time. I don’t care how stupid it is.” 

“Next time?” Jaemin asks, eyes wide and hopeful. 

Jeno looks down at where Jaemin’s hands are still on his waist, knuckles chapped and cuticles peeling a bit. Another imperfection, another crack in the facade he wears for everyone. Everyone but Jeno. “If you want to,” Jeno says, and feels like the luckiest man in the world when Jaemin’s face splits into a smile so wide it puts every other smile in the world to shame. 

“I want to,” Jaemin says, and that’s when Jeno kisses him, short and sweet. 

“What does the ring say?” Jeno asks when they separate. “I always meant to ask.” 

“ _Souviens-toi que je t'aime,_ ” Jaemin says. “Remember that I love you.” He smiles at Jeno, who pulls him close, breathing him in. 

He fits into Jaemin perfectly, inexplicably, and something within them sighs, promising to start again. 

* * *

There are still a few things to do. 

The first: apologize to all of his friends. 

The second: win the Quidditch Cup. 

The first task is easy enough—Jeno, elated and feeling lighter than he has in days, tracks them all down and apologizes profusely. They all look far too smug, but Jeno is so happy that he lets them rub their genius in his face. Jisung crows about the success of the locked door, and Chenle’s eyes water when Jeno hugs him and thanks him so honestly even Donghyuck looks surprised. 

“I thought you’d be more pissed,” Donghyuck says warily. “You _do_ realize it was all a set-up, right?” 

“Yeah, but it worked,” Jeno replies, grinning. Renjun rolls his eyes. 

“You’re a fool in love,” Renjun tells him. “I’m glad you’re not moping anymore.” 

“Does this mean you’re done trying to convince me you don’t want to play?” Donghyuck asks. “You kept asking for reserve Chasers, but we don’t, uh, have any. So even if Jaemin had rejected you again, you would’ve played.” 

“Well, it’s good he didn’t,” Jeno says, “and yes, I’m in. One-hundred percent.” 

Donghyuck grins so widely Jeno feels something in his chest creak. “To the end?” 

“To the end,” Jeno agrees, and means it. 

He wakes up the next morning feeling unstoppable, buoyed by the events of last night. Jaemin meets him outside of the common room, and they head down to the Great Hall together, both dressed in scarlet, Jaemin’s Beauxbaton-blue robes changed out for one of Jeno’s Quidditch jumpers. They don’t hold hands, not yet—it all feels very new, but in a different way. Less like Jeno is trying to pry back walls, and more like this is one of the alternate timelines in his head, a what-if come true. A universe where Jaemin knows him, and loves him just the same. 

Every single person in the Great Hall—or at least, it feels like that—looks over at them when they enter. Jaemin is beautiful, breathtaking, in the same head-swimming way that everyone thinks he always is. Jeno knows different—he’s seen Jaemin cry, seen him break, seen him hurt. Seen him worried, seen him furious, seen him gleeful and mischievous, pink-mouthed and pink-cheeked. So many different sides to him, and Jeno has ages, now, to learn and love them all. 

Jaemin presses his hand to Jeno’s lower back as they approach the doors to the grounds. Donghyuck is waiting for Jeno, the rest of the team already in the locker room getting ready. 

“I’ll see you later,” Jaemin says, leaning close. “Good luck, okay? I’ll be cheering for you.” 

“Okay,” Jeno replies, and affection overwhelms him. “See you.” 

The warmth of Jaemin’s smile lingers even as he leaves to go sit with Renjun, giving him the strength to walk into the locker room, clear his throat, and say, “I’m sorry.” 

Mia is first to respond, her whole face melting into a kind smile. “It’s alright, Jeno. We knew you didn’t do it on purpose.” 

“Just wish you would’ve let us cover you,” Sean says. “That’s what teammates are for, y’know? You’re not playing this game alone.” 

“I know, and I let you down,” Jeno says, swallowing heavily. Next to him, Donghyuck is solid, unwavering. Steady, as he’s always been. “I want to make it up to you all, if you’ll let me.” 

“We’ve got no other Chasers,” Lynne says bluntly, “so we don’t really have a choice, do we?” 

“Lynne,” Mia chides. Lynne shrugs. 

“What?” she says. “It’s true. But sure, fine, I forgive you. Just don’t pull that again, or I’ll hit you with a Bludger.” 

“Noted,” Jeno says, smiling. 

Jason, who’d been putting on his robes, gives Jeno two thumbs up. “Thanks for owning up to it,” he says. “For the record, I never really doubted that you’d be playing with us today. You haven’t let us down yet.” 

“Vivian?” Jeno asks, glancing over to where Vivian is carefully tucking the ends of her headscarf into her robes, hands shaking a little. She’s uncharacteristically quiet. “I know it was especially unfair to you. I made a lot of mistakes that day, I think, and instead of asking for help, it was all sort of shoved your way.” 

“It was,” Vivian replies, finally turning. She’s scowling. “It was a right _git_ move. Especially since I’m your friend.” 

Jeno winces, but knows he deserves it. 

“But,” Vivian continues, “ _because_ I’m your friend, I get it. And you apologized, and you’re here, and we’re going to kick _ass._ ” She grins, ferocious and ebullient. “Right?” 

“Right,” Jeno answers, and a cheer goes up among the seven of them. 

“Gryffindor on three!” Donghyuck shouts, and they all pile their hands in the middle. “One, two, three!” 

“ _Gryffindor_!” they bellow, and Jeno feels it in his belly, in his chest, and in his soul. There's the red-gold of the crowd, roaring so loudly Jeno has to read Donghyuck’s lips. The weather is perfect—cool, sunny, not too bright. The ground is firm beneath Jeno’s feet, and he’s got his team at his side, humming with anticipation. 

“Shake hands,” Madam Liete says, and Jeno reaches forward to shake Captain Alex Dermot’s hand. He’d been absent the last two matches, both times due to sickness. But he’s back now, and he smiles so charmingly at Jeno that for a second, he forgets that they’re here to beat Hufflepuff. 

“Let’s have a good match, eh?” Alex says genially, and Jeno can tell that he means it. Vivian, already back to her normal self, scoffs at his friendliness. 

“See you up there,” Jeno replies, and they separate. 

Madam Liete blows her whistle once, and the crowd hushes slightly as they all mount their brooms. Jeno’s muscles are quivering with anticipation, the noise fading away until it’s just him and six other scarlet-clad figures, ready to win. 

The whistle sounds again, and Jeno kicks off _hard,_ shooting into the air. The Bludgers whoosh past him with a snarl, and Lynne and Donghyuck separate, chasing after them. Sean peels off to go search for the Snitch, leaving Jeno, Mia and Jason to begin the long fight for the Quaffle. 

“After a close game, Gryffindor has made it to the playoffs,” Lucas Kingsbury begins. “And Hufflepuff is back with their full lineup—this is going to be the match of the century—that’s Lee with the Quaffle, he passes to Wilshore, who ducks a Bludger from Dermot—” 

The Hufflepuff defense locks into place, and Mia’s goal is intercepted neatly by one of the Chasers, who passes it to her teammate, forcing Gryffindor back towards their own hoops. 

“This is going to be a brutal one,” Jeno tells Donghyuck in passing, who nods gravely. 

And it is. Hufflepuff is unbreakable, their defense so solid the majority of Gryffindor’s offensive plays fall flat. Jeno knows they’re functioning at their best, can _feel_ the flawlessness of their plays. They’re operating as one unit, to the point where Jeno feels like his broom is an extension of his body. 

They score once, twice, three times, but it’s not enough. Hufflepuff starts to push back, matching them goal-for-goal. It’s exhausting, and Hufflepuff knows this—knows it’s only a matter of time before they start faltering. Hufflepuff is patient, unhurried, and terrifyingly consistent, and it’s tiring them out. 

When Jason almost drops the Quaffle, Jeno calls a time-out. Madam Liete blows her whistle and they all gather by the hoops, huddling together. Everyone is breathing hard, including Vivian—the Hufflepuffs are a near-constant presence on this side, barely repelled by their defense. 

“They’re persistent,” Donghyuck says, straight-to-the-point. “They’re going to keep wearing us out until they win.” 

“Nothing is working,” Mia despairs. “Lynne can barely keep up with their Beaters, and we don’t even have room to pass anymore.” 

All eyes turn to Jeno, desperate for an answer, for a plan. 

“They’re persistent,” Jeno repeats slowly, thinking hard, “but…they’re also predictable. Their teamwork is what makes their offense airtight, but it’s not anything special.” 

“Thirty seconds!” Madam Liete shouts. Jeno beckons his team closer, a plan forming in his mind. 

“We, however,” he says, “ _are_ special. And we’re unpredictable. And that’s how we’re going to win.” 

“But the Seeker,” Sean says, eyes wide. “Kasper. She’s better—” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Jeno interrupts, and quickly outlines what he wants them to do. 

Madam Liete’s whistle blasts again, signalling them to return to the game. Jeno looks around at his teammates. “Good?” 

Everyone nods, determined. “Right, then let’s get to it.” 

They scatter. Hufflepuff takes the Quaffle, and they do their best to keep the score as even as possible, at least until one of the Seekers spots the Snitch. 

It doesn’t take long. Within fifteen minutes of grueling, exhaustive play, Lucas Kingsbury excitedly exclaims that Sean’s seen the Snitch, and that he’s going after it. 

“Okay, get ready,” Jeno shouts to his team. “They’re gonna do it!” 

“Bellinger’s in a dive, but Kasper’s close on his tail, she’s got a faster broom—oh boy, and here comes the Hufflepuff defense to block him—” 

“Now!” Jeno shouts, and Mia leans back on her broomstick, Quaffle in hand. 

“Go long!” She shouts, and Jeno leans forward, flattening himself against his broom handle, rocketing towards the gathering knot of Hufflepuffs, who, like they have every single game this season, have formed up to stop the other Seeker from getting the Snitch, a wall of yellow and black.

Jeno’s heart is pounding in his ears as he races the Quaffle. If he doesn’t make this catch, if the Hufflepuffs don’t scatter upon his arrival, if Donghyuck and Lynne don’t keep the Bludgers away— 

Everything that could go wrong flashes through Jeno’s head in the last few half-seconds before he takes his hands off his broom handle, blindly trusting years of training, of reflex. Trusting that his team has his back. 

The Hufflepuffs see him coming, can tell that he’s not going to stop. He sees them connect the dots: it’s a pass, valid and true, and as a result, Jeno won’t get fouled, even if he crashes headlong into the three of them. 

They scatter at the last possible second, and the Quaffle lands in Jeno’s hands just as Sean blasts past him, chasing the Snitch. 

Another half-second passes, and then the crowd explodes into noise, a roar that fills Jeno’s head. He sits up, a little winded, just in time to see Sean thrust the Snitch into the air, its wings beating fruitlessly against his fingers. 

There’s a single moment where Jeno’s head goes silent, nothing but white static crackling in his ears, heartbeat galloping along at a fever-pitch. Then everything crashes into him, all at once, and he is _alight_ , burning from the inside out. Someone is shouting his name; everyone is yelling, and Jeno might be crying. Donghyuck is, but he’s also smiling. Mia gets to Sean first, wrapping her arms around his neck. Lynne joins a second later, then Jason, then Vivian. They pull Donghyuck and Jeno into the hug, sweaty and too loud, brooms faltering underneath them until they finally sink to earth, screaming, cheering and crying. 

_We did it,_ Jeno thinks, stunned. _We really—we really did it._

The crowd bursts from the stands, flooding the field with scarlet and gold. Jeno disentangles himself from his team just in time to be tackled by his friends. Renjun is shouting something that Jeno can’t hear, and Jisung claps him so hard on the back that he stumbles. Chenle, despite the loss, hugs him, tells him that was the best play he’s ever seen, period. 

Then there’s Jaemin: beautiful, glowing in the afternoon sun. Tired, still, but alive and smiling so widely the corners of his eyes are creasing. The weight of him is solid, and knocks the breath out of Jeno when their bodies collide. 

“Jeno Lee,” Jaemin breathes, and the world closes in until it’s just the two of them, Jeno’s unbridled joy and Jaemin’s smile, perfect and shining. “That was brilliant.” 

“Told you we’d win them all,” Jeno says. Jaemin loops his arms around Jeno’s neck, and Jeno feels like he might faint. Even after everything, Jaemin still makes his knees go weak. 

“You did,” Jaemin agrees, laughing. Jeno joins in, unable to help it, giddy and tingling all over. 

“Does that mean you’ll go out with me?” Jeno asks, and Jaemin laughs harder, his whole body shaking. 

“Yeah,” Jaemin manages. “I’ll go out with you.” 

“I love you,” Jeno says, cheeks aching, and Jaemin laughs once more, loudly, before they’re kissing, messy, too much teeth and too much laughing. He knows people are watching them—Vivian catcalls them, Donghyuck whistles, and Jeno thinks his heart is going to burst. 

Later, they’ll have more time to themselves, time to slow down and talk. To kiss properly, crammed into one armchair while people around them celebrate until dawn. They’ll have time to fall asleep next to each other, after N.E.W.T.s and finals, for the last day of Hogwarts and one last meal. Time to say goodbye, for one last train ride home. And then time to say hello again when Jeno gets scouted and Jaemin shows up in England, freshly-graduated and babbling nonsense about traveling and staying together. Time to hold hands and watch summer sunsets, time for Christmases at Jeno’s house, time in the snow. Time for growing next to each other, into each other, time for more laughing and a little more crying, time for more Quidditch and more winning, Jaemin in familiar colors, Jaemin with dark hair under a starry sky, time for quiet songs and loud parties and rings and train rides and Butterbeer, and a hundred more springs that will come and melt a hundred more winters. 

_What does it feel like?_ someone will ask him, much later. And Jeno will think back to this moment, standing under the sun, the Quidditch Cup glinting in a sea of red. He’ll think of Jaemin, of the settling, grounding feeling of home, of the way that Jaemin takes his hand. _Like flying,_ he’ll answer, _and like falling._

Jaemin kisses him under the blue sky of victory, and Jeno thinks, _it feels like both._


End file.
